tttii* 


c  '* 


THANKFUL'S 
INHERITANCE 


BOOKS  BY  JOSEPH  C.  LINCOLN 

Thankful'*  Inheritance 

Cap'n  Dan's  Daughter  Mr.  Pratt's  Patients 

The  Rise  of  Rotcoe  Paine  Kent  Knowles:  "Quahang" 

The  Postmaster  Cap'n  Warren's  Wards 

The  Woman-Haters  The  Depot  Master 

Keziah  Coffin  Our  Village 

Cj  Whittaker's  Place  Mr.  Pratt 

Cap'n  Eri  Partners  of  the  Tide 

Cape  Cod  Ballads  The  Old  Home  House 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY.      NEW  YORK 

162 


'Supper  is  ready/  she  called  cheerfully." 

[PAGE  138.] 


THANKFUL'S 
INHERITANCE 


BY 


JOSEPH  C.  LINCOLN 

AUTHOR  OF  "KENT  KNOWLES,  QUAHAUG," 
"CAP'N  DAN'S  DAUGHTER/'  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
H.    M.    BRETT 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

D. APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 

1915 


COPYRIGHT,  1915,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

" '  Supper  is  ready,'  she  called  cheerfully. "  _  .      .     Frontispiece 
"It  was  not    a  closet  behind  that  door,  but  another 


FACING 
PAGE 


24 


1  Misunderstand  !'  she  repeated.    ...    'I  understand 
quite  well.     Don't  speak  to  me  again.'" .      .      .      .        214 

;  Now  then,  -when  shall  we  be  married  ? ' "    .      .      .      .        380 


THANKFUL'S    INHERITANCE 


CHAPTER   I 

THE  road  from  Wellmouth  Centre  to  East  Well- 
mouth  is  not  a  good  one;  even  in  dry  weather 
and  daylight  it  is  not  that.  For  the  first  two 
miles  it  winds  and  twists  its  sandy  way  over  bare  hills, 
with  cranberry  swamps  and  marshy  ponds  in  the  hol 
lows  between.  Then  it  enters  upon  a  three-mile  stretch 
bordered  with  scrubby  pines  and  bayberry  thickets,  climb 
ing  at  last  a  final  hill  to  emerge  upon  the  bluff  with  the 
ocean  at  its  foot.  And,  fringing  that  bluff  and  clustering 
thickest  in  the  lowlands  just  beyond,  is  the  village  of 
East  Wellmouth,  which  must  on  no  account  be  confused 
with  South  Wellmouth,  or  North  Wellmouth,  or  West 
Wellmouth,  or  even  Wellmouth  Port. 

On  a  bright  sunny  summer  day  the  East  Wellmouth 
road  is  a  hard  one  to  travel.  At  nine  o'clock  of  an  even 
ing  in  March,  with  a  howling  gale  blowing  and  rain 
pouring  in  torrents,  traveling  it  is  an  experience.  Winnie 
S.,  who  drives  the  East  Wellmouth  depot-wagon,  had 
undergone  the  experience  several  times  in  the  course  of 
his  professional  career,  but  each  time  he  vowed  vehe 
mently  that  he  would  not  repeat  it ;  he  would  "heave  up" 
his  job  first. 

He  was  vowing  it  now.  Perched  on  the  edge  of  the 
depot  wagon's  front  seat,  the  reins  leading  from  his 
clenched  fists  through  the  slit  in  the  "boot"  to  the  rings 

I 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

on  the  collar  of  General  Jackson,  the  aged  horse,  he  ex 
pressed  his  opinion  of  the  road,  the  night,  and  the  job. 

"By  Judas  priest !"  declared  Winnie  S. — his  name  was 
Winfield  Scott  Hancock  Holt,  but  no  resident  of  East 
Wellmouth  called  him  anything  but  Winnie  S. — "by  Judas 
priest!  If  this  ain't  enough  to  make  a  feller  give  up 
tryin'  to  earn  a  livin',  then  I  don't  know !  Tell  him  he 
can't  ship  aboard  a  schooner  'cause  goin'  to  sea's  a  dog's 
life,  and  then  put  him  on  a  job  like  this!  Dog's  life! 
jfudas  priest!  What  kind  of  a  life's  this,  I  want  to 
know?" 

From  the  curtain  depths  of  the  depot-wagon  behind 
him  a  voice  answered,  a  woman's  voice: 

"Judgin'  by  the  amount  of  dampness  in  it  I  should 
think  you  might  call  it  a  duck's  life,"  it  suggested. 

Winnie  S.  accepted  this  pleasantry  with  a  grunt.  "I 
'most  wish  I  was  a  duck,"  he  declared,  savagely.  "Then 
I  could  set  in  three  inches  of  ice-water  and  like  it,  maybe. 
'Now  what's  the  matter  with  you  ?"  This  last  a  roar  to 
the  horse,  whose  splashy  progress  along  the  gullied  road 
had  suddenly  ceased.  "What's  the  matter  with  you 
now?"  repeated  Winnie.  "What  have  you  done;  come 
to  anchor?  Git  dap!" 

But  General  Jackson  refused  to  "git  dap."  Jerks  at 
the  reins  only  caused  him  to  stamp  and  evince  an  inclina 
tion  to  turn  around.  Go  ahead  he  would  not. 

"Judas  priest!"  exclaimed  the  driver.  "I  do  believe 
the  critter's  drowndin' !  Somethin's  wrong.  I've  got  to 
get  out  and  see,  I  s'pose.  Set  right  where  you  be,  ladies. 
I'll  be  back  in  a  minute,"  adding,  as  he  took  a  lighted  lan 
tern  from  beneath  the  seat  and  pulled  aside  the  heavy 
boot  preparatory  to  alighting,  "unless  I  get  in  over 
my  head,  which  ain't  so  dummed  unlikely  as  it  sounds." 

Lantern  in  hand  he  clambered  clumsily  from  beneath 

2 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

the  boot  and  disappeared.  Inside  the  vehicle  was  black 
ness,  dense,  damp  and  profound. 

"Auntie,"  said  a  second  feminine  voice,  "Auntie,  what 
do  you  suppose  has  happened  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  Emily.  I'm  prepared  for  'most  anything 
by  this  time.  Maybe  we've  landed  on  Mount  Ararat. 
I  feel  as  if  I'd  been  afloat  for  forty  days  and  nights. 
Land  sakes  alive!"  as  another  gust  shot  and  beat  its 
accompanying  cloudburst  through  and  between  the  car 
riage  curtains ;  "right  in  my  face  and  eyes !  I  don't 
wonder  that  boy  wished  he  was  a  duck.  I'd  like  to  be  a 
fish — or  a  mermaid.  I  couldn't  be  much  wetter  if  I  was 
either  one,  and  I'd  have  gills  so  I  could  breathe  under 
water.  I  suppose  mermaids  have  gills,  I  don't  know." 

Emily  laughed.  "Aunt  Thankful,"  she  declared,  "I  be 
lieve  you  would  find  something  funny  in  a  case  of  small 
pox." 

"Maybe  I  should ;  I  never  tried.  'Twouldn't  be  much 
harder  than  to  be  funny  with — with  rain-water  on  the 
brain.  I'm  so  disgusted  with  myself  I  don't  know  what 
to  do.  The  idea  of  me,  daughter  and  granddaughter  of 
seafarin*  folks  that  studied  the  weather  all  their  lives, 
not  knowin'  enough  to  stay  to  home  when  it  looked  as 
much  like  a  storm  as  it  did  this  mornin'.  And  draggin' 
you  into  it,  too.  We  could  have  come  tomorrow  or 
next  day  just  as  well,  but  no,  nothin'  to  do  but  I  must 
start  today  'cause  I'd  planned  to.  This  comes  of  figgerin' 
to  profit  by  what  folks  leave  to  you  in  wills.  Talk  about 
dead  men's  shoes!  Live  men's  rubber  boots  would  be 
worth  more  to  you  and  me  this  minute.  Such  a  cruise 
as  this  has  been !" 

It  had  been  a  hard  trip,  certainly,  and  the  amount  of 
water  through  which  they  had  traveled  the  latter  part 
of  it  almost  justified  its  being  called  a  "cruise."  Old 

3 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Captain  Abner  Barnes,  skipper,  for  the  twenty  years  be 
fore  his  death,  of  the  coasting  schooner  T.  I.  Smalley, 
had,  during  his  life-long  seafaring,  never  made  a  much 
rougher  voyage,  all  things  considered,  than  that  upon 
which  his  last  will  and  testament  had  sent  his  niece  and 
her  young  companion. 

Captain  Abner,  a  widower,  had,  when  he  died,  left  his 
house  and  land  at  East  Wellmouth  to  his  niece  by  mar 
riage,  Mrs.  Thankful  Barnes.  Thankful,  whose  husband, 
Eben  Barnes,  was  lost  at  sea  the  year  after  their  mar 
riage,  had  been  living  with  and  acting  as  housekeeper  for 
an  elderly  woman  named  Pearson  at  South  Middleboro. 
She,  Thankful,  had  never  visited  her  East  Wellmouth 
inheritance.  For  four  years  after  she  inherited  it  she 
received  the  small  rent  paid  her  by  the  tenant,  one  Laban 
Eldredge.  His  name  was  all  she  knew  concerning  him. 
Then  he  died  and  for  the  next  eight  months  the  house 
stood  empty.  And  then  came  one  more  death,  that  of  old 
Mrs.  Pearson,  the  lady  for  whom  Thankful  had  "kept 
house." 

Left  alone  and  without  present  employment,  the  Widow 
Barnes  considered  what  she  should  do  next.  And,  thus 
considering,  the  desire  to  visit  and  inspect  her  East  Well- 
mouth  property  grew  and  strengthened.  She  thought 
more  and  more  concerning  it.  It  was  hers,  she  could 
do  what  she  pleased  with  it,  and  she  began  to  formulate 
vague  ideas  as  to  what  she  might  like  to  do.  She  kept 
these  ideas  to  herself,  but  she  spoke  to  Emily  Howes 
concerning  the  possibilities  of  a  journey  to  East  Well- 
mouth. 

Emily  was  Mrs.  Barnes'  favorite  cousin,  although  only 
a  second  cousin.  Her  mother,  Sarah  Cahoon,  Thankful's 
own  cousin,  had  married  a  man  named  Howes.  Emily 
was  the  only  child  by  this  marriage.  But  later  there  was 

4 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

another  marriage,  this  time  to  a  person  named  Hobbs, 
and  there  were  five  little  Hobbses.  Papa  Hobbs  worked 
occasionally,  but  not  often.  His  wife  and  Emily  worked 
all  the  time.  The  latter  had  been  teaching  school  in 
Middleboro,  but  now  it  was  spring  vacation.  So  when 
Aunt  Thankful  suggested  the  Cape  Cod  tour  of  inspection 
Emily  gladly  agreed  to  go.  The  Hobbs  house  was  not  a 
haven  of  joy,  especially  to  Mr.  Hobbs'  stepdaughter, 
and  almost  any  change  was  likely  to  be  an  agreeable 
one. 

They  had  left  South  Middleboro  that  afternoon.  The 
rain  began  when  the  train  reached  West  Ostable.  At 
Bayport  it  had  become  a  storm.  At  Wellmouth  Centre 
it  was  a  gale  and  a  miniature  flood.  And  now,  shut  up 
in  the  back  part  of  the  depot-wagon,  with  the  roaring 
wind  and  splashing,  beating  rain  outside,  Thankful's 
references  to  fish  and  ducks  and  mermaids,  even  to 
Mount  Ararat,  seemed  to  Emily  quite  appropriate.  They 
had  planned  to  spend  the  night  at  the  East  Wellmouth 
hotel  and  visit  the  Barnes'  property  in  the  morning. 
But  it  was  five  long  miles  to  that  hotel  from  the  Well- 
mouth  Centre  station.  Their  progress  so  far  had  been 
slow  enough.  Now  they  had  stopped  altogether. 

A  flash  of  light  showed  above  the  top  of  the  carriage 
boot. 

"Mercy  on  us !"  cried  Aunt  Thankful.  "Is  that  light- 
nin'  ?  All  we  need  to  make  this  complete  is  to  be  struck 
by  lightnin'.  No,  'tain't  lightnin',  it's  just  the  lantern. 
Our  pilot's  comin'  back,  I  guess  likely.  Well,  he  ain't 
been  washed  away,  that's  one  comfort." 

Winnie  S.,  holding  the  lantern  in  his  hand,  reappeared 
beneath  the  boot.  Raindrops  sparkled  on  his  eyebrows, 
his  nose  and  the  point  of  his  chin. 

"Judas  priest!"  he  gasped.    "If  this  ain't " 

5 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"You  needn't  say  it.  We'll  agree  with  you,"  inter 
rupted  Mrs.  Barnes,  hastily.  "Is  anything  the  matter?" 

The  driver's  reply  was  in  the  form  of  elaborate  sar 
casm. 

"Oh,  no!"  he  drawled,  "there  wasn't  nothin'  the  mat 
ter.  Just  a  few  million  pines  blowed  across  the  road  and 
the  breechin'  busted  and  the  for'ard  wheel  about  ready  to 
come  off,  that's  all.  Maybe  there's  a  few  other  things 
I  didn't  notice,  but  that's  all  I  see." 

"Humph!  Well,  they'll  do  for  a  spell.  How's  the 
weather,  any  worse?" 

"Worse?  No!  they  ain't  no  worse  made.  Looks  as 
if  'twas  breakin'  a  little  over  to  west'ard,  fur's  that  goes. 
But  how  in  the  nation  we'll  ever  fetch  East  Wellmouth, 
/  don't  know.  Git  dap!  Git  dap!  Have  you  growed 
fast?" 

General  Jackson  pulled  one  foot  after  the  other  from 
the  mud  and  the  wagon  rocked  and  floundered  as  its 
pilot  steered  it  past  the  fallen  trees.  For  the  next  twenty 
minutes  no  one  spoke.  Then  Winnie  S.  breathed  a  sigh 
of  thankfulness. 

"Well,  we're  out  of  that  stretch  of  woods,  anyhow,"  he 
declared.  "And  it  'tain't  rainin'  so  hard,  nuther.  Cal'late 
we  can  get  to  civilization  if  that  breechin'  holds  and  the 
pesky  wheel  don't  come  off.  How  are  you,  in  aft  there ; 
tolerable  snug?" 

Emily  said  nothing.  Aunt  Thankful  chuckled  at  the 
word. 

"Snug!"  she  repeated.  "My,  yes!  If  this  water  was 
salt  we'd  be  as  snug  as  a  couple  of  pickled  mackerel. 
How  far  off  is  this  civilization  you're  talkin'  about?" 

"Well,  our  hotel  where  you're  bound  is  a  good  two 
mile,  but  there's — Judas  priest !  there  goes  that  breechin' 
again !" 

6 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

There  was  another  halt  while  the  breeching  underwent 
temporary  repairs.  The  wind  blew  as  hard  as  ever,  but 
the  rain  had  almost  stopped.  A  few  minutes  later  it 
stopped  altogether. 

"There!"  declared  Winnie  S.  "The  fust  mile's  gone. 
I  don't  know's  I  hadn't  ought  to  stop " 

Aunt  Thankful  interrupted.  "Stop !"  she  cried.  "For 
mercy  sakes,  don't  stop  anywheres  unless  you  have  to. 
We've  done  nothin'  but  stop  ever  since  we  started.  Go 
on  as  far  as  you  can  while  this — this  machine  of  yours 
is  wound  up." 

But  that  was  not  destined  to  be  far.  From  beneath  the 
forward  end  of  the  depot- wagon  sounded  a  most  alarm 
ing  creak,  a  long-drawn,  threatening  groan.  Winnie  S. 
uttered  his  favorite  exclamation. 

"Judas  priest!"  he  shouted.  "There  goes  that  wheel! 
I've  been  expectin'  it." 

He  tugged  at  the  right  hand  rein.  General  Jackson, 
who,  having  been  brought  up  in  a  seafaring  community, 
had  learned  to  answer  his  helm,  swerved  sharply  from 
the  road.  Emily  screamed  faintly. 

"Where  are  you  goin'?"  demanded  Mrs.  Barnes. 

The  driver  did  not  answer.  The  groan  from  beneath 
the  carriage  was  more  ominously  threatening  than  ever. 
And  suddenly  the  threat  was  fulfilled.  The  depot-wagon 
jerked  on  for  a  few  feet  and  then,  with  a  crack,  settled 
down  to  port  in  a  most  alarming  fashion.  Winnie  S. 
settled  down  with  it,  still  holding  tight  to  the  reins  and 
roaring  commands  to  General  Jackson  at  the  top  of  his 
lungs. 

"Whoa!"  he  hollered.  "Whoa!  Stand  still!  Stand 
still  where  you  be!  Whoa!" 

General  Jackson  stood  still.  Generally  speaking  he 
needed  but  one  hint  to  do  that.  His  commander  climbed 

7 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

out,  or  fell  out,  from  beneath  the  boot.     The  ground 
upon  which  he  fell  was  damp  but  firm. 

"Whoa!"  he  roared  again.  Then  scrambling  to  his 
feet  he  sprang  toward  the  wagon,  which,  the  forward 
wheel  detached  and  flat  beneath  it,  was  resting  on  the  re 
maining  three  in  a  fashion  which  promised  total  capsizing 
at  any  moment. 

"Be  you  hurt?    Be  you  hurt?"  demanded  Winnie  S. 

From  inside  the  tightly  drawn  curtains  there  came  a 
variety  of  sounds,  screams,  exclamations,  and  grunts  as 
of  someone  gasping  for  breath. 

"Be  you  hurt  ?"  yelled  the  frantic  Mr.  Holt. 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  younger  passenger  which  first 
made  coherent  reply. 

"No,"  it  panted.  "No,  I— I  think  I'm  not  hurt.  But 
Aunt  Thankful Oh,  Auntie,  are  you " 

Aunt  Thankful  herself  interrupted.  Her  voice  was 
vigorous  enough,  but  it  sounded  as  if  smothered  beneath 
a  heavy  weight. 

"No,  no,"  she  gasped.  "I — I'm  all  right.  I'm  all  right. 
Or  I  guess  I  shall  be  when  you  get — off  of  me." 

"Judas  priest!"  cried  Winnie  S.,  and  sprang  to  the 
scene.  It  was  the  younger  woman,  Emily,  whom  he  res 
cued  first.  She,  being  on  the  upper  side  of  the  tilted 
wagon,  had  slid  pell-mell  along  the  seat  down  upon  the 
body  of  her  companion.  Mrs.  Barnes  was  beneath  and 
getting  her  out  was  a  harder  task.  However,  it  was  ac 
complished  at  last. 

"Mercy  on  us !"  exclaimed  the  lady,  as  her  companions 
assisted  her  to  rise.  "Mercy  on  us!  I  feel  like  a  pan 
cake.  I  never  knew  you  weighed  so  much,  Emily  Howes. 
Well,  that's  all  right  and  no  bones  broke.  Where  are 
we  now  ?  Why — why,  that's  a  house,  I  do  believe !  We're 
in  somebody's  yard." 

8 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

They  were,  that  was  plain  even  on  a  night  as  dark  as 
this.  Behind  them,  bordering  the  stretch  of  mud  and 
puddles  which  they  had  just  left,  was  the  silhouette  of  a 
dilapidated  picket  fence;  and  in  front  loomed  the 
shadowy  shapes  of  buildings. 

"We're  in  somebody's  yard,"  repeated  Thankful.  "And 
there's  a  house,  as  sure  as  I  live !  Well,  I  never  thought 
I'd  be  so  grateful  just  at  the  bare  sight  of  one.  I'd 
begun  to  think  I  never  would  see  a  house  again.  If 
we'd  run  afoul  of  a  ship  I  shouldn't  have  been  so  sur 
prised.  Come  on,  Emily!" 

She  seized  her  companion  by  the  hand  and  led  the 
way  toward  the  nearest  and  largest  building.  Winnie  S., 
having  retrieved  and  relighted  the  overturned  lantern, 
was  inspecting  the  wreck  of  the  depot-wagon.  It  was 
some  minutes  before  he  noticed  that  his  passengers  had 
disappeared.  Then  he  set  up  a  shout. 

"Hi!     Where  you  be?"  he  shouted. 

"Here,"  was  the  answer.    "Here,  by  the  front  door." 

"Hey?  Oh,  all  right.  Stay  where  you  be.  I'll  be 
there  pretty  soon." 

The  "pretty  soon"  was  not  very  soon.  Mrs.  Barnes 
began  to  lose  patience. 

"I  ain't  goin'  to  roost  on  this  step  till  mornin',"  she 
leclared.  "I'm  goin'  inside.  Ain't  that  a  bell  handle 
on  your  side  of  the  door,  Emily?  Give  it  a  pull,  for 
mercy  sakes!" 

"But,  Auntie " 

"Give  it  a  pull,  I  tell  you!  I  don't  know  who  lives 
here  and  I  don't  care.  If  'twas  the  President  of  the 
United  States  he'd  have  to  turn  out  and  let  us  in  this 
night.  Here,  let  me  do  it !" 

She  gave  the  glass  knob  a  sharp  jerk.  From  within 
sounded  the  jingle  of  an  old-fashioned  spring  bell. 

9 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"There!"  she  exclaimed,  "I  guess  they'll  hear  that. 
Anyway,  I'll  give  'em  one  more  for  good  measure." 

She  jerked  the  bell  again.  The  peal  died  away  in  a 
series  of  lessening  tinkles,  but  there  was  no  other  sound 
from  within. 

"They  must  be  sound  sleepers,"  whispered  Emily,  after 
a  moment. 

"They  must  be  dead,"  declared  Thankful.  "There's 
been  smashin'  and  crackin'  and  hollerin'  enough  to  wake 
up  anybody  that  wa'n't  buried.  How  that  wind  does 
blow!  I — Hello!  here  comes  that  man  at  last.  About 
time,  I  should  say!" 

Winnie  S.  appeared,  bearing  the  lantern. 

"What  you  doin'?"  he  asked.  "There  ain't  no  use 
ringin'  that  bell.  Nobody'll  hear  it." 

Thankful,  who  had  just  given  the  bell  a  third  pull,  took 
her  hand  from  the  knob. 

"Why  not?"  she  demanded.  "It  makes  noise  enough. 
I  should  think  a  graven  image  would  hear  it.  What  is 
this,  a  home  for  deaf  people?" 

Winnie  S.  grinned.  "  'Tain't  nobody's  home,  not  now," 
he  said.  "This  house  is  empty.  Ain't  nobody  lived  in  it 
for  'most  a  year." 

The  two  women  looked  at  each  other.  Mrs.  Barnes 
drew  a  long  breath. 

"Well,"  she  observed,  "if  this  ain't  the  last  straw. 
Such  a  cruise  as  we've  had;  and  finally  be  shipwrecked 
right  in  front  of  a  house  and  find  it's  an  empty  one! 
Don't  talk  to  me!  Well,"  sharply,  "what  shall  we  do 
next?" 

The  driver  shook  his  head. 

"Dummed  if  I  know !"  he  answered.  "The  old  wagon 
can't  go  another  yard.  I — I  cal'late  you  folks'll  have  to 
stay  here  for  a  spell." 

10 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Stay?  Where'll  we  stay;  out  here  in  the  middle  of 
this  howlin'  wilderness?" 

"I  guess  so.  Unless  you  want  to  walk  the  rest  of  the 
way,  same's  I'm  cal'latin'  to.  I'm  goin'  to  unharness  the 
horse  and  put  him  under  the  shed  here  and  then  hoof 
it  over  to  the  village  and  get  somebody  to  come  and 
help.  You  can  come  along  if  you  want  to,  but  it'll  be 
a  tougher  v'yage  than  the  one  we've  come  through." 

"How  far  off  is  this — this  village  of  yours?" 

"Oh,  about  a  mile  and  a  half !" 

"A  mile  and  a  half!  And  it's  beginnin'  to  rain  again! 
Emily,  I  don't  know  how  you  feel,  but  if  the  horse  can 
wait  under  the  shed  until  somebody  comes  I  guess  we 
can.  I  say  let's  do  it." 

Emily  nodded.  "Of  course,  Auntie,"  she  said,  em 
phatically.  "We  couldn't  walk  a  mile  and  a  half  in  a 
storm  like  this.  Of  course  we  must  wait.  Where  is 
the  shed  ?" 

Winnie  S.  led  the  way  to  the  shed.  It  was  a  ram 
shackle  affair,  open  on  one  side.  General  Jackson, 
tethered  to  a  rusty  ring  at  the  back,  whinnied  a  welcome. 

The  driver,  holding  the  lantern  aloft,  looked  about  him. 
His  two  passengers  looked  also. 

"Well,"  observed  Thankful,  "this  may  have  been  a 
shed  once,  but  it's  more  like  a  sieve  now.  There's  more 
leaks  to  the  roof  than  there  is  boards,  enough  sight. 
However,  any  port  in  a  storm,  and  we've  got  the 
storm,  sartin.  All  right,  Mister  What's-your-name,  we'll 
wait." 

Winnie  S.  turned  away.    Then  he  turned  back  again. 

"Maybe  I'd  better  leave  you  the  lantern,"  he  said, 
doubtfully.  "I  guess  likely  I  could  get  along  without  it 
and — and  'twould  make  it  more  sociable  for  you." 

He  put  the  lantern  down  on  the  earth  floor  beside 

II 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

them  and  strode  off  into  the  dark.    Mrs.  Barnes  called 
after  him. 

"Ain't  there  any  way  of  gettin'  into  that  house?"  she 
asked.  "It  acts  as  if  'twas  goin'  to  storm  hard  as  ever 
and  this  shed  ain't  the  most — what  did  you  call  it? — 
sociable  place  in  creation,  in  spite  of  the  lantern.  If  we 
could  only  get  inside  that  house " 

Winnie  S.  interrupted.  They  could  not  see  him,  but 
there  was  a  queer  note  in  his  voice. 

'Get  inside!"  he  repeated.  "Get  into  that  house  this 
time  of  night!  Well — well,  maybe  you  could,  but  7 
wouldn't  do  it,  not  for  nothin'.  You  better  wait  in  the 
shed.  I'll  be  back  soon  as  ever  I  can." 

They  heard  him  splashing  along  the  road.  Then  a  gust 
of  wind  and  a  torrent  of  rain  beating  upon  the  leaky 
roof  drowned  all  other  sounds.  Emily  turned  to  her 
companion. 

"Auntie,"  she  said,  "if  you  and  I  were  superstitious 
we  might  think  all  this,  all  that  we've  been  through, 
was  what  people  call  a  sign,  a  warning.  That  is  what 
ever  so  many  South  Middleboro  people  would  say." 

"Humph!  if  I  believed  in  signs  I'd  have  noticed  the 
weather  signs  afore  we  started.  Those  are  all  the  'signs' 
I  believe  in  and  I  ought  to  have  known  better  than  to 
risk  comin'  when  it  looked  so  threatenin'.  I  can't  forgive 
myself  for  that.  However,  we  did  come,  and  here  we 
are — wherever  'here'  is.  Now  what  in  the  world  did  that 
man  mean  by  sayin'  we  better  not  try  to  get  into  that 
house?  I  don't  care  what  he  meant.  Give  me  that  lan 
tern." 

"Auntie,  where  are  you  going?" 

"I'm  goin'  to  take  an  observation  of  those  windows. 
Nine  chances  to  one  they  ain't  all  locked,  and  if  there's 
one  open  you  and  I  can  crawl  into  it.  I  wish  we  could 

12 


boost  the  horse  in,  too,  poor  thing,  but  self-preservation 
is  the  first  law  of  nature  and  if  he's  liable  to  perish  it's 
no  reason  we  should.  I'm  goin'  to  get  into  that  house 
if  such  a  thing's  possible." 

"But,  Auntie— 

"Don't  say  another  word.  I'm  responsible  for  your 
bein'  here  this  night,  Emily  Howes.  You  wouldn't  have 
come  if  I  hadn't  coaxed  you  into  it.  And  you  shan't 
die  of  pneumonia  or — or  drownin'  if  I  can  help  it.  I'm 
goin'  to  have  a  look  at  those  doors  and  windows.  Don't 
be  scared.  I'll  be  back  in  a  jiffy.  Goodness  me,  what 
a  puddle!  Well,  if  you  hear  me  holler  you'll  know  I'm 
goin'  under  for  the  third  time,  so  come  quick.  Here 
goes !" 

Lantern  in  hand,  she  splashed  out  into  the  wet,  windy 
darkness. 


CHAPTER  II 

MISS  HOWES,  left  to  share  with  General  Jack 
son  the  "sociability"  of  the  shed,  watched  that 
lantern  with   faint  hope   and   strong  anxiety. 
She  saw  it  bobbing  like  a  gigantic  firefly  about  the  walls 
of  the  house,  stopping  here  and  there  and  then  hurrying 
on.     Soon  it  passed  around  the  further  corner  and  dis 
appeared  altogether.    The  wind  howled,  the  rain  poured, 
General  Jackson  stamped  and  splashed,  and  Emily  shiv 
ered. 

At  last,  just  as  the  watcher  had  begun  to  think  some 
serious  accident  had  happened  to  her  courageous  relative 
and  was  considering  starting  on  a  relief  expedition,  the 
lantern  reappeared. 

"Emily!"  screamed  Mrs.  Barnes.  "Emily!  Come 
here!" 

Emily  came,  fighting  her  way  against  the  wind.  She 
found  her  cousin  standing  by  the  corner  of  the  house. 

"I've  got  it,"  cried  Aunt  Thankful,  panting  but  tri 
umphant.  "I've  got  it.  One  of  the  windows  on  the  other 
side  is  unfastened,  just  as  I  suspicioned  it  might  be.  I 
think  one  of  us  can  get  in  if  t'other  helps." 

She  seized  the  arm  of  her  fellow  castaway  and  together 
they  turned  the  corner,  struggled  on  for  a  short  distance 
and  then  stopped. 

"This  is  the  window,"  gasped  the  widow.  "Here,  right 
abreast  of  us.  See!" 

14 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

She  held  up  the  lantern.  The  window  was  "abreast" 
of  them,  but  also  it  was  a  trifle  high. 

"It  ain't  fastened,"  shouted  Thankful ;  she  was  obliged 
to  shout  in  order  to  be  heard.  "I  could  push  it  open  a 
little  mite  from  the  bottom,  but  I  couldn't  reach  to  get  it 
up  all  the  way.  You  can  if  I  steady  you,  I  guess.  Here ! 
Put  your  foot  on  that  box.  I  lugged  it  around  from  the 
back  yard  on  purpose." 

Standing  on  an  empty  and  shaky  cranberry  crate  and 
held  there  by  the  strong  arm  of  Mrs.  Barnes,  Emily 
managed  to  push  up  the  lower  half  of  the  window.  The 
moment  she  let  go  of  it,  however,  it  fell  with  a  tremen 
dous  bang. 

"One  of  the  old-fashioned  kind,  you  might  know,"  de 
clared  Thankful.  "No  weights  nor  nothin'.  We'll  have 
to  prop  it  up  with  a  stick.  You  wait  where  you  are  and 
I'll  go  get  one.  There's  what's  left  of  a  woodpile  out 
back  here ;  that's  where  that  crate  came  from." 

She  hastened  away  and  was  back  in  a  moment  with  a 
stout  stick.  Emily  raised  the  window  once  more  and 
placed  the  stick  beneath  it. 

"There !"  panted  her  companion.  "We've  got  a  gang 
way  anyhow.  Next  thing  is  to  get  aboard.  You  come 
down  and  give  me  a  boost." 

But  Emily  declined. 

"Of  course  I  shan't  do  any  such  thing,"  she  declared, 
indignantly.  "I  can  climb  through  that  window  a  great 
deal  easier  than  you  can,  Auntie.  I'm  ever  so  much 
younger.  Just  give  me  a  push,  that's  all." 

Her  cousin  demurred.  "I  hate  to  have  you  do  it,"  she 
said.  "For  anybody  that  ain't  any  too  strong  or  well 
you've  been  through  enough  tonight.  Well,  if  you're  so 
set  on  it.  I  presume  likely  you  could  make  a  better  job 
of  climbin'  than  I  could.  It  ain't  my  age  that  bothers  me 

15 


though,  it's  my  weight.  All  ready  ?  Up  you  go !  Humph ! 
It's  a  mercy  there  ain't  anybody  lookin'  on.  .  .  .  There ! 
all  right,  are  you?" 

Emily's  head  appeared  framed  by  the  window  sash. 
"Yes,"  she  panted.  "I— I  think  I'm  all  right.  At  least 
I'm  through  that  window.  Now  what  shall  I  do?" 

"Take  this  lantern  and  go  to  one  of  the  doors  and  see 
if  you  can  unfasten  it.  Try  the  back  door;  that's  the 
most  liable  to  be  only  bolted  and  hooked.  The  front 
one's  probably  locked  with  a  key." 

The  lantern  and  its  bearer  disappeared.  Mrs.  Barnes 
plodded  around  to  the  back  door.  As  she  reached  it  it 
opened. 

"It  was  only  hooked,"  said  Emily.  "Come  in,  Auntie. 
Come  in  quick!" 

Thankful  had  not  waited  for  the  invitation;  she  was 
in  already.  She  took  the  lantern  from  her  relative's 
hand.  Then  she  shut  the  door  behind  her. 

"Whew !"  she  exclaimed.  "If  it  don't  seem  good  to 
get  under  cover,  real  cover !  What  sort  of  a  place  is  this, 
anyhow,  Emily?" 

"I  don't  know.  I — I've  been  too  frightened  to  look. 
I — I  feel  like  a — O,  Aunt  Thankful,  don't  you  feel  like 
a  burglar?" 

"Me?  A  burglar?  I  feel  like  a  wet  dishcloth.  I  never 
was  so  soaked,  with  my  clothes  on,  in  my  life.  Hello !  I 
thought  this  was  an  empty  house.  There's  a  stove  and  a 
chair,  such  as  it  is.  Whoever  lived  here  last  didn't  take 
away  all  their  furniture.  Let's  go  into  the  front  rooms." 

The  first  room  they  entered  was  evidently  the  dining- 
room.  It  was  quite  bare  of  furniture.  The  next,  how 
ever,  that  which  Emily  had  entered  by  the  window,  con 
tained  another  stove,  a  ramshackle  what-not,  and  a 
broken-down,  ragged  sofa. 

16 


>^     THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Oh !"  gasped  Miss  Howes,  pointing  to  the  sofa,  "see ! 
see !  This  isn't  an  empty  house.  Suppose — Oh,  suppose 
there  were  people  living  here !  What  would  they  say  to 
us?" 

For  a  moment  Thankful  was  staggered.  Then  her 
common-sense  came  to  her  rescue. 

"Nonsense!"  she  said,  firmly.  "A  house  with  folks 
livin'  in  it  has  somethin'  in  the  dinin'-room  besides  dust. 
Anyhow,  it's  easy  enough  to  settle  that  question. 
Where's  that  door  lead  to?" 

She  marched  across  the  floor  and  threw  open  the  door 
to  which  she  had  pointed. 

"Humph !"  she  sniffed.  "Best  front  parlor.  The  whole 
shebang  smells  shut  up  and  musty  enough,  but  there's 
somethin'  about  a  best  parlor  smell  that  would  give  it 
away  any  time.  Phew !  I  can  almost  smell  wax  wreaths 
and  hair-cloth,  even  though  they  have  been  took  away. 
No,  this  is  an  empty  house  all  right,  but  I'll  make  good 
and  sure  for  your  sake,  Emily.  Ain't  there  any  stairs  to 
this  old  rattle-trap?  Oh,  yes,  here's  the  front  hall. 
Hello!  Hello,  up  there!  Hi-i!" 

She  was  shouting  up  the  old-fashioned  staircase.  Her 
voice  echoed  above  with  the  unmistakable  echo  of  empty 
rooms.  Only  that  echo  and  the  howl  of  the  wind  and 
roar  of  rain  answered  her. 

She  came  back  to  the  apartment  where  she  had  left 
her  cousin. 

"It's  all  right,  Emily,"  she  said.  "We're  the  only  pas 
sengers  aboard  the  derelict.  Now  let's  see  if  we  can't 
be  more  comf'table.  You  set  down  on  that  sofa  and 
rest.  I've  got  an  idea  in  my  head." 

The  idea  evidently  involved  an  examination  of  the 
stove,  for  she  opened  its  rusty  door  and  peered  inside. 
Then,  without  waiting  to  answer  her  companion's  ques- 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

tions,  she  hurried  out  into  the  kitchen,  returning  with  an 
armful  of  shavings  and  a  few  sticks  of  split  pine. 

"I  noticed  that  woodbox  in  the  kitchen  when  I  fust 
come  in,"  she  said.  "And  'twa'n't  quite  empty  neither, 
though  that's  more  or  less  of  a  miracle.  Matches?  Oh, 
yes,  indeed!  I  never  travel  without  'em.  I've  been  so 
used  to  lookin'  out  for  myself  and  other  folks  that  I'm  a 
reg'lar  man  in  some  ways.  There!  now  let's  see  if  the 
draft  is  rusted  up  as  much  as  the  stove." 

It  was  not,  apparently,  for,  with  the  dampers  wide 
open,  the  fire  crackled  and  snapped.  Also  it  smoked  a 
little. 

"  'Twill  get  over  that  pretty  soon,"  prophesied  Mrs. 
Barnes.  "I  can  stand  'most  any  amount  of  smoke  so 
long's  there's  heat  with  it.  Now,  Emily,  we'll  haul  that 
sofa  up  alongside  and  you  lay  down  on  it  and  get  rested 
and  warm.  I'd  say  get  dry,  too,  but  'twould  take  a  reg' 
lar  blast  furnace  to  dry  a  couple  of  water  rats  like  you 
and  me  this  night.  Perhaps  we  can  dry  the  upper  layer, 
though ;  that'll  be  some  help.  Now,  mind  me !  Lay  right 
down  on  that  sofa." 

Emily  protested.  She  was  no  wetter  and  no  more  tired 
than  her  cousin,  she  said.  Why  should  she  lie  down 
while  Aunt  Thankful  sat  up? 

"  'Cause  I  tell  you  to,  for  one  thing,"  said  the  widow, 
with  decision.  "And  because  I'm  well  and  strong  and 
you  ain't.  When  I  think  of  how  I  got  you,  a  half  invalid, 
as  you  might  say,  to  come  on  this  crazy  trip  I'm  so  pro 
voked  I  feel  like  not  speakin'  to  myself  for  a  week. 
There !  now  you  look  more  comf 'table,  anyhow.  If  I  only 
had  somethin'  to  put  over  you,  I'd  feel  better.  I  wonder 
if  there's  an  old  bed  quilt  or  anything  upstairs.  I've  a 
good  mind  to  go  and  see." 

Emily's  protest  was  determined  this  time. 

18 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Indeed  you  shan't!"  she  cried.  "You  shan't  stir.  I 
wouldn't  have  you  go  prowling  about  this  poky  old  place 
for  anything.  Do  you  suppose  I  could  stay  down  here 
alone  knowing  that  you  might  be — might  be  meeting  or — 
or  finding  almost  anything  up  there.  Sit  right  down  in 
that  chair  beside  me.  Don't  you  think  it  is  almost  time 
for  that  driver  to  be  back?" 

"Land  sakes — no!  He's  hardly  started  yet.  It's  goin' 
to  take  a  good  long  spell  afore  he  can  wade  a  mile 
and  a  half  in  such  a  storm  as  this  and  get  another 
horse  and  wagon  and  come  back  again.  He'll  come  by 
and  by.  All  we've  got  to  do  is  to  stay  by  this  fire  and  be 
thankful  we've  got  it." 

Emily  shivered.  "I  suppose  so,"  she  said.  "And  I 
know  I  am  nervous  and  a  trial  instead  of  a  help.  If  you 
had  only  been  alone " 

"Alone !  Heavens  to  Betey !  Do  you  think  I'd  like  this 
— this  camp-meetin'  any  better  if  I  was  the  only  one  to 
it.  My!  Just  hear  that  wind!  Hope  these  old  chim 
neys  are  solid." 

"Auntie,  what  do  you  suppose  that  man  meant  by  say 
ing  he  wouldn't  enter  this  house  at  night  for  anything?" 

"Don't  know.  Perhaps  he  meant  he'd  be  afraid  of 
bein'  arrested." 

"But  you  don't  think  we'll  be  arrested  ?" 

"No,  no,  of  course  not.  I'd  be  almost  willin'  to  be 
arrested  if  they'd  do  it  quick.  A  nice,  dry  lock-up  and 
somethin'  to  eat  wouldn't  be  so  bad,  would  it?  But  no 
constable  but  a  web-footed  one  would  be  out  this  night. 
Now  do  as  I  say — you  lay  still  and  give  your  nerves 
a  rest." 

For  a  few  moments  the  order  was  obeyed.  Then  Miss 
Howes  said,  with  another  shiver:  "I  do  believe  this  is 
the  worst  storm  I  have  ever  experienced." 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"  'Tis  pretty  bad,  that's  a  fact.  Do  you  know,  Emily, 
if  I  was  a  believer  in  signs  such  as  mentioned  a  little 
while  ago,  I  might  almost  be  tempted  to  believe  this 
storm  was  one  of  'em.  About  every  big  change  in  my 
life  has  had  a  storm  mixed  up  with  it,  comin'  at  the  time 
it  happened  or  just  afore  or  just  after.  I  was  born,  so 
my  mother  used  to  tell  me,  on  a  stormy  night  about  like 
this  one.  And  it  poured  great  guns  the  day  I  was  mar 
ried.  And  Eben,  my  husband,  went  down  with  his  vessel 
in  a  hurricane  off  Hatteras.  And  when  poor  Jedediah 
run  off  to  go  gold-diggin'  there  was  such  a  snowstorm 
the  next  day  that  I  expected  to  see  him  plowin'  his 
way  home  again.  Poor  old  Jed!  I  wonder  where  he  is 
tonight?  Let's  see;  six  years  ago,  that  was.  I  wonder 
if  he's  been  frozen  to  death  or  eat  up  by  polar  bears,  or 
what.  One  thing's  sartin,  he  ain't  made  his  fortune  or 
he'd  have  come  home  to  tell  me  of  it.  Last  words  he 
said  to  me  was,  'I'm  a-goin',  no  matter  what  you  say. 
And  when  I  come  back,  loaded  down  with  money,  you'll 
be  glad  to  see  me.' " 

Jedediah  Cahoon  was  Mrs.  Barnes'  only  near  relative, 
a  brother.  Always  a  visionary,  easy-going,  impractical 
little  man,  he  had  never  been  willing  to  stick  at  steady 
employment,  but  was  always  chasing  rainbows  and  de 
pending  upon  his  sister  for  a  home  and  means  of  exis 
tence.  When  the  Klondike  gold  fever  struck  the  coun 
try  he  was  one  of  the  first  to  succumb  to  the  disease. 
And,  after  an  argument — violent  on  his  part  and  deter 
mined  on  Thankful's — he  had  left  South  Middleboro  and 
gone — somewhere.  From  that  somewhere  he  had  never 
returned. 

"Yes,"  mused  Mrs.  Barnes,  "those  were  the  last  words 
he  said  to  me." 

"What  did  you  say  to  him?"  asked  Emily,  drowsily. 

20 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

She  had  heard  the  story  often  enough,  but  she  asked  the 
question  as  an  aid  to  keeping  awake. 

"Hey  ?  What  did  I  say  ?  Oh,  I  said  my  part,  I  guess. 
'When  you  come  back,'  says  I,  'it'll  be  when  I  send  money 
to  you  to  pay  your  fare  home,  and  I  shan't  do  it.  I've 
sewed  and  washed  and  cooked  for  you  ever  since  Eben 
died,  to  say  nothin'  of  goin'  out  nursin'  and  housekeepin' 
to  earn  money  to  buy  somethin'  to  cook.  Now  I'm 
through.  This  is  my  house — or,  at  any  rate,  I  pay  the 
rent  for  it.  If  you  leave  it  to  go  gold-diggin'  you  needn't 
come  back  to  it.  If  you  do  you  won't  be  let  in.'  Of 
course  I  never  thought  he'd  go,  but  he  did.  Ah  hum! 
I'm  afraid  I  didn't  do  right.  I  ought  to  have  realized 
that  he  wa'n't  really  accountable,  poor,  weak-headed  crit 
ter!" 

Emily's  eyes  were  fast  shutting,  but  she  made  one  more 
remark. 

"Your  life  has  been  a  hard  one,  hasn't  it,  Auntie,"  she 
said. 

Thankful  protested.  "Oh,  no,  no !"  she  declared.  "No 
harder'n  anybody  else's,  I  guess  likely.  This  world  has 
more  hards  than  softs  for  the  average  mortal  and  I  never 
flattered  myself  on  bein'  above  the  average.  But  there ! 
How  in  the  nation  did  I  get  onto  this  subject?  You  and 
me  settin'  here  on  other  folks's  furniture — or  what  was 
furniture  once — soppin'  wet  through  and  half  froze,  and 
me  talkin'  about  troubles  that's  all  dead  and  done  with! 
What  did  get  me  started?  Oh,  yes,  the  storm.  I  was 
just  thinkin'  how  most  of  the  important  things  in  my  life 
had  had  bad  weather  mixed  up  with  'em.  Come  to  think 
of  it,  it  rained  the  day  Mrs.  Pearson  was  buried.  And 
her  dyin'  was  what  set  me  to  thinkin'  of  cruisin'  down 
here  to  East  Wellmouth  and  lookin'  at  the  property  Uncle 
Abner  left  me.  I've  never  laid  eyes  on  that  property  and 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

I  don't  even  know  what  the  house  looks  like.  I  might 
have  asked  that  depot-wagon  driver,  but  I  thought  'twas 
no  use  tellin'  him  my  private  affairs,  so  I  said  we  was 
bound  to  the  hotel,  and  let  it  go  at  that.  If  I  had  asked 
he  might  at  least  have  told  me  where.  .  .  .  Hey  ?  Why — 
why — my  land!  I  never  thought  of  it,  but  it  might  be! 
It  might !  Emily !" 

But  Miss  Howes'  eyes  were  closed  now.  In  spite  of 
her  wet  garments  and  her  nervousness  concerning  their 
burglarious  entry  of  the  empty  house  she  had  fallen 
asleep.  Thankful  did  not  attempt  to  wake  her.  Instead 
she  tiptoed  to  the  kitchen  and  the  woodbox,  took  from 
the  latter  the  last  few  slabs  of  pine  wood  and,  returning, 
filled  the  stove  to  the  top.  Then  she  sat  down  in  the 
chair  once  more. 

For  some  time  she  sat  there,  her  hands  folded  in  her 
lap.  Occasionally  she  glanced  about  the  room  and  her 
lips  moved  as  if  she  were  talking  to  herself.  Then  she 
rose  and  peered  out  of  the  window.  Rain  and  blackness 
and  storm  were  without,  but  nothing  else.  She  returned 
to  the  sofa  and  stood  looking  down  at  the  sleeper.  Emily 
stirred  a  little  and  shivered. 

That  shiver  helped  to  strengthen  the  fears  in  Mrs. 
Barnes'  mind.  The  girl  was  not  strong.  She  had  come 
home  from  her  school  duties  almost  worn  out.  A  trip 
such  as  this  had  been  was  enough  to  upset  even  the  most 
robust  constitution.  She  was  wet  and  cold.  Sleeping  in 
wet  clothes  was  almost  sure  to  bring  on  the  dreaded  pneu 
monia.  If  only  there  might  be  something  in  that  house, 
something  dry  and  warm  with  which  to  cover  her. 

"Emily,"  said  Thankful,  in  a  low  tone.    "Emily." 

The  sleeper  did  not  stir.  Mrs.  Barnes  took  up  the  lan 
tern.  Its  flame  was  much  less  bright  than  it  had  been 
and  the  wick  sputtered.  She  held  the  lantern  to  her  ear 

22 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

and  shook  it  gently.  The  feeble  "swash"  that  answered 
the  shake  was  not  reassuring.  The  oil  was  almost  gone. 
t  Plainly  if  exploring  of  those  upper  rooms  was  to  be 
done  it  must  be  done  at  once.  With  one  more  glance  at 
the  occupant  of  the  sofa  Mrs.  Barnes,  lantern  in  hand, 
tiptoed  from  the  room,  through  the  barren  front  hall 
and  up  the  stairs.  The  stairs  creaked  abominably.  Each 
creak  echoed  like  the  crack  of  doom. 
•  At  the  top  of  the  stairs  was  another  hall,  long  and  nar 
row,  extending  apparently  the  whole  length  of  the  house. 
At  intervals  along  this  hall  were  doors.  One  after  the 
other  Thankful  opened  them.  The  first  gave  entrance  to 
a  closet,  with  a  battered  and  ancient  silk  hat  and  a  paste 
board  box  on  the  shelf.  The  next  opened  into  a  large 
room,  evidently  the  spare  bedroom.  It  was  empty.  So 
was  the  next  and  the  next  and  the  next.  No  furniture 
of  any  kind.  Thankful's  hope  of  finding  a  quilt  or  a 
wornout  blanket,  anything  which  would  do  to  cover  her 
sleeping  and  shivering  relative,  grew  fainter  with  the 
opening  of  each  door. 

There  were  an  astonishing  number  of  rooms  and 
closets.  Evidently  this  had  been  a  big,  commodious  and 
comfortable  house  in  its  day.  But  that  day  was  long 
past  its  sunset.  Now  the  bigness  only  emphasized  the 
dreariness  and  desolation.  Dampness  and  spider  webs 
everywhere,  cracks  in  the  ceiling,  paper  peeling  from  the 
walls.  And  around  the  gables  and  against  the  dormer- 
windows  of  these  upper  rooms  the  gale  shrieked  and 
howled  and  wailed  like  a  drove  of  banshees.  , 

The  room  at  the  very  end  of  the  long  hall  was  a  large 
one.  It  was  at  the  back  of  the  house  and  there  were 
windows  on  two  sides  of  it.  It  was  empty  like  the 
others,  and  Mrs.  Barnes,  reluctantly  deciding  that  her 
exploration  in  quest  of  coverings  had  been  a  failure,  was 

23 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

about  to  turn  and  retrace  her  steps  to  the  stairs  when 
she  noticed  another  door. 

It  was  in  the  corner  of  the  room  furthest  from  the  win 
dows  and  was  shut  tight.  A  closet,  probably,  and  all 
the  closets  she  had  inspected  so  far  had  contained  noth 
ing  but  rubbish.  However,  Thankful  was  not  in  the  habit 
of  doing  things  by  halves,  so,  the  feebly  sputtering  lantern 
held  in  her  left  hand,  she  opened  the  door  with  the  other 
and  looked  in.  Then  she  uttered  an  exclamation  of  joy. 

It  was  not  a  closet  behind  that  door,  but  another  room. 
A  small  room  with  but  one  little  window,  low  down 
below  the  slope  of  the  ceiling.  But  this  room  was  to 
some  extent  furnished.  There  was  a  bed  in  it,  and  a 
rocking  chair,  and  one  or  two  pictures  hanging  crookedly 
upon  the  wall.  Also,  and  this  was  the  really  important 
thing,  upon  that  bed  was  a  patchwork  comforter. 

Thankful  made  a  dash  for  that  comforter.  She  set 
the  lantern  down  upon  the  floor  and  snatched  the  gayly 
colored  thing  from  the  bed.  And,  as  she  did  so,  she 
heard  a  groan. 

There  are  always  noises  in  an  empty  house,  especially 
an  old  house.  Creaks  and  cracks  and  rustlings  mysteri 
ous  and  unexplainable.  When  the  wind  blows  these 
noises  are  reenforced  by  a  hundred  others.  In  this  par 
ticular  house  on  this  particular  night  there  were  noises 
enough,  goodness  knows.  Howls  and  rattles  and  moans 
and  shrieks.  Every  shutter  and  every  shingle  seemed  to 
be  loose  and  complaining  of  the  fact.  As  for  groans — 
old  hinges  groan  when  the  wind  blows  and  so  do  rickety 
gutters  and  water  pipes.  But  this  groan,  or  so  it  seemed 
to  Mrs.  Barnes,  had  a  different  and  distinct  quality  of 
its  own.  It  sounded — yes,  it  sounded  human. 

Thankful  dropped  the  patchwork  comforter. 

"Who's  that?"  she  asked,  sharply. 

24 


"It  was  not  a  closet  behind  that  door,  but  another  room." 


There  was  no  answer.  No  sounds  except  those  of  the 
storm.  Thankful  picked  up  the  comforter. 

"Humph!"  she  said  aloud — talking  to  herself  was  a 
habit  developed  during  the  years  of  housekeeping  for 
deaf  old  Mrs.  Pearson.  "Humph!  7  must  be  gettin' 
nerves,  I  guess." 

She  began  folding  the  old  quilt  in  order  to  make  it 
easier  to  carry  downstairs.  And  then  she  heard  another 
groan,  or  sigh,  or  combination  of  both.  It  sounded,  not 
outside  the  window  or  outside  the  house,  but  in  that  very 
room. 

Again  Mrs.  Barnes  dropped  the  comforter.  Also  she 
went  out  of  the  room.  But  she  did  not  go  far.  Halfway 
across  the  floor  of  the  adjoining  room  she  stopped  and 
put  her  foot  down,  physically  and  mentally. 

"Fool!"  she  said,  disgustedly.  Then,  turning  on  her 
heel,  she  marched  back  to  the  little  bedroom  and  picked 
up  the  lantern ;  its  flame  had  dwindled  to  the  feeblest  of 
feeble  sparks. 

"Now  then,"  said  Thankful,  with  determination, 
"whoever — or — or  whatever  thing  you  are  that's  makin' 
that  noise  you  might  just  as  well  show  yourself.  If 
you're  hidin'  you'd  better  come  out,  for  I'll  find  you." 

But  no  one  or  no  "thing"  came  out.  Thankful  waited 
a  moment  and  then  proceeded  to  give  that  room  a  very 
thorough  looking-over.  It  was  such  a  small  apartment 
that  the  process  took  but  little  time.  There  was  no 
closet.  Except  for  the  one  window  and  the  door  by 
which  she  had  entered,  the  four  walls,  covered  with 
old-fashioned  ugly  paper,  had  no  openings  of  any  kind. 
There  could  be  no  attic  or  empty  space  above  the  ceiling 
because  she  could  hear  the  rain  upon  the  sloping  roof. 
She  looked  under  the  bed  and  found  nothing  but  dust. 
She  looked  in  the  bed,  even  under  the  rocking-chair. 

25 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Well,  there!"  she  muttered.  "I  said  it  and  I  was 
right.  I  am  gettin'  to  be  a  nervous  old  fool.  I'm  glad 
Emily  ain't  here  to  see  me.  And  yet  I  did — I  swear  I  did 
hear  somethin'." 

The  pictures  on  the  wall  by  the  window  caught  her 
eye.  She  walked  over  and  looked  at  them.  The  lantern 
gave  so  little  light  that  she  could  scarcely  see  anything, 
but  she  managed  to  make  out  that  one  was  a  dingy 
chromo  with  a  Scriptural  subject.  The  other  was  a  bat 
tered  "crayon  enlargement,"  a  portrait  of  a  man,  a 
middle-aged  man  with  a  chin  beard.  There  was  some 
thing  familiar  about  the  face  in  the  portrait.  Some 
thing 

Thankful  gasped.    "Uncle  Abner !"  she  cried.    "Why — 

why " 

Then  the  lantern  flame  gave  a  last  feeble  sputter  and 
went  out.  She  heard  the  groan  again.  And  in  that  room, 
the  room  she  had  examined  so  carefully,  so  close  as  to 
seem  almost  at  her  very  ear,  a  faint  voice  wailed  agoniz 
ingly,  "Oh,  Lord!" 

Thankful  went  away.  She  left  the  comforter  and  the 
lantern  upon  the  floor  and  she  did  not  stop  to  close  the 
door  of  the  little  bedroom.  Through  the  black  darkness 
of  the  long  hall  she  rushed  and  down  the  creaky  stairs. 
Her  entrance  to  the  sitting-room  was  more  noisy  than 
her  exit  had  been  and  Miss  Howes  stirred  upon  the 
sofa  and  opened  her  eyes. 

"Auntie!"  she  cried,  sharply.  "Aunt  Thankful,  where 
are  you?" 

"I'm — I'm  here,  Emily.  That  is,  I  guess — yes,  I'm 
here." 

"But  why  is  it  so  dark?    Where  is  the  lantern?" 

"The  lantern?"  Mrs.  Barnes  was  trying  to  speak 
calmly  but,  between  agitation  and  loss  of  breath,  she 

26 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

found  it  hard  work.     "The  lantern?     Why — it's — it's 
gone,"  she  said. 

"Gone?    What  do  you  mean?    Where  has  it  gone?" 

"It's  gone — gone  out.  There  wa'n't  enough  oil  in  it 
to  last  any  longer,  I  suppose." 

"Oh !"  Emily  sat  up.  "And  you've  been  sitting  here 
alone  in  the  dark  while  I  have  been  asleep.  How  dread 
ful  for  you!  Why  didn't  you  speak  to  me?  Has  any 
thing  happened  ?  Hasn't  that  man  come  back  yet  ?" 

It  was  the  last  question  which  Thankful  answered.. 
"No.  No,  he  ain't  come  back  yet,"  she  said.  "But  he 
will  pretty  soon,  I'm  sure.  He — he  will,  Emily,  don't 
you  fret." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  worried,  Auntie.  I  am  too  sleepy  to, 
worry,  I  guess." 

"Sleepy !  You're  not  goin'  to  sleep  again,  are  you  ?" 

Mrs.  Barnes  didn't  mean  to  ask  this  question ;  certainly 
she  did  not  mean  to  ask  it  with  such  evident  anxiety.. 
Emily  noticed  the  tone  and  wondered. 

"Why,  no,"  she  said.  "I  think  not.  Of  course  I'm  not. 
But  what  made  you  speak  in  that  way?  You're  not 
frightened,  are  you?" 

Thankful  made  a  brave  effort. 

"Frightened !"  she  repeated,  stoutly.  "What  on  earth 
should  I  be  frightened  of,  I'd  like  to  know?" 

"Why,  nothing,  I  hope." 

"I  should  say  not.  I — Good  heavens  above!  What's 
that?" 

She  started  and  clutched  her  companion  by  the  arm. 
They  both  listened. 

"I  don't  hear  anything  but  the  storm,"  said  Emily. 
"Why,  Auntie,  you  are  frightened;  you're  trembling.  I 
do  believe  there  is  something." 

Thankful  snatched  her  hand  away. 

27 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"There  isn't,"  she  declared.    "Of  course  there  isn't." 

"Then  why  are  you  so  nervous?" 

"Me  ?  Nervous !  Emily  Howes,  don't  you  ever  say 
that  to  me  again.  I  ain't  nervous  and  I  ain't  goin'  to 
be  nervous.  There's  no — no  sane  reason  why  I  should  be 
and  I  shan't.  I  shan't!" 

"But,  Auntie,  you  are.    Oh,  what  is  it?" 

"Nothin'.  Nothin'  at  all,  I  tell  you.  The  idea !"  with 
an  attempt  at  a  laugh.  "The  idea  of  you  thinkin'  I'm 
nervous.  Young  folks  like  you  or  rich  old  women  are 
the  only  ones  who  can  afford  nerves.  I  ain't  either  young 
nor  rich." 

Emily  laughed,  too.  This  speech  was  natural  and 
characteristic. 

"If  you  were  a  nervous  wreck,"  she  said,  "it  would  be 
no  wonder,  all  alone  in  the  dark  as  you  have  been  in 
a  deserted  house  like  this.  I  can't  forgive  myself  for 
falling  asleep.  Whose  house  do  you  suppose  it  is?" 

Aunt  Thankful  did  not  answer.  Emily  went  on.  Her 
short  nap  had  revived  her  courage  and  spirit. 

"Perhaps  it  is  a  haunted  house,"  she  said,  jokingly. 
"Every  village  has  a  haunted  house,  you  know.  Perhaps 
that's  why  the  stage-driver  warned  us  not  to  go  into  it." 

To  her  surprise  Mrs.  Barnes  seemed  to  take  offense  at 
this  attempt  at  humor. 

"Don't  talk  silly,"  she  snapped.  "If  I've  lived  all 
these  years  and  been  as  down  on  spooks  and  long-haired 
mediums  as  I've  been,  and  then  to — there — there !  Don't 
let's  be  idiots  altogether.  Talk  about  somethin'  else. 
Talk  about  that  depot-wagon  driver  and  his  pesky  go-cart 
that  got  us  into  this  mess.  There's  plenty  of  things  I'd 
like  to  say  about  them." 

They  talked,  in  low  tones.  Conversation  there  in  the 
dark  and  under  such  circumstances,  was  rather  difficult. 

28 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Emily,  although  she  was  determined  not  to  admit  it,  was 
growing  alarmed  for  the  return  of  Winnie  S.  and  his 
promised  rescue  expedition.  Aunt  Thankful  was  think 
ing  of  the  little  back  bedroom  upstairs.  An  utter  lack 
of  superstition  was  something  upon  which  she  had  prided 
herself.  But  now,  as  she  thought  of  that  room,  of  the 
portrait  on  the  wall,  and  what  she  had  heard 

"Listen!"  whispered  Ernily,  suddenly.  "Listen!  I — I 
thought  I  heard  something." 

Mrs.  Barnes  leaned  forward. 

"What?    Where?   Upstairs?"  she  asked,  breathlessly. 

"No.  Out — out  there  somewhere."  She  pointed  in  the 
direction  of  the  front  hall.  "It  sounded  as  if  someone 
had  tried  the  front  door.  Hark !  There  it  is  again." 

Aunt  Thankful  rose  to  her  feet.  "I  heard  it,  too,"  she 
said.  "It's  probably  that  driver  man  come  back.  I'll  go 
and  see." 

"No — no,  Auntie,  you  mustn't.     I — I  shan't  let  you." 

"I  shall !  I  shall,  I  tell  you !  If  I've  got  any  common- 
sense  at  all,  I  ain't  goin'  to  be  scared  of Of  course 

it's  that  driver  man.  He's  wonderin'  where  we  are  and 
he's  lookin'  for  us.  I'll  go  let  him  in." 

She  broke  away  from  Miss  Howes'  grasp  and  started 
for  the  front  hall.  The  action  was  a  braver  one  than 
her  cousin  realized.  If  there  was  one  thing  on  earth  that 
Thankful  Barnes  did  not  wish  to  do  at  that  moment  it 
was  to  go  nearer  the  stairs  landing  to  the  rooms  above. 

But  she  went,  and  Emily  went  with  her.  Cautiously 
they  peered  through  the  little  windows  at  the  sides  of 
the  front  door.  There  was  no  one  in  sight,  and,  listening, 
they  heard  nothing. 

"I — I  guess  we  was  mistaken,  Emily,"  whispered 
Thankful.  "Let's  go  back  to  the  fire." 

"But  Auntie,  I  did  hear  something.    Didn't  you?" 

29 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Well,  I  thought  I  did,  but  I  guess Oh,  don't  stay 

here  another  minute !  I — I  shall  be  hearin'  'most  anything 
if  we  do." 

They  returned  to  the  room  they  had  left.  But  they 
had  scarcely  entered  it  when  they  stopped  short  and, 
clinging  to  each  other,  listened. 

It  was  the  latch  of  the  kitchen  door  they  heard  click 
now.  And  the  door  was  opening.  In  the  kitchen  they 
heard  the  sounds  of  cautious  footsteps,  footsteps  which 
entered  the  dining-room,  which  came  on  toward  the 
sitting-room.  And  a  voice,  a  man's  voice,  whis 
pered  : 

"I  told  you  so !  I — I  told  you  so !  I  said  I  see  a  light. 

And — and  that  door  was  undone  and — and By  time ! 

Obed  Bangs,  you  can  go  on  if  you  want  to,  but  I  tell  you 
you're  riskin'  your  life.  I — I  ain't  goin'  to  stay  no  longer. 
I'm  goin'  to  fetch  the  constable — or — or  the  minister  or 
somebody.  I " 

Another  voice  interrupted. 

"Shut  up!  Belay!"  it  ordered.  "If  there's  anybody  or 
anything  in  this  house  we'll  have  a  look  at  it,  that's  all. 
You  can  go  to  the  minister  afterwards,  if  you  want  to. 
Just  now  you'll  come  along  with  me  if  I  have  to  haul  you 
by  the  neck.  Let's  see  what's  in  here." 

There  was  a  flash  of  light  in  the  crack  of  the  door 
leading  from  the  dining-room.  That  door  was  thrown 
open  and  the  light  became  a  blaze  from  a  big  lantern  held 
aloft. 

"Hey!  What!"  exclaimed  the  second  voice.  "Who — 
women,  by  the  everlastin' !" 

Mrs.  Barnes  and  Emily  clinging  to  each  other,  blinked 
in  the  lantern  light. 

"Women !   Two  women !"  said  the  voice  again. 

Thankful  answered.  The  voice  was  real  and  it  came 

30 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

from  a  human  throat.     Anything  human — and  visible — 
she  did  not  fear. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  crisply,  "we're  women.  What  of  it? 
Who  are  you  ?" 

The  man  with  the  lantern  entered  the  room.  He  was 
big  and  broad-shouldered  and  bearded.  His  companion 
was  short  and  stout  and  smooth-faced ;  also  he  appeared 
very  much  frightened.  Both  men  wore  oilskin  coats  and 
sou'westers. 

"Who  are  you?"  repeated  Aunt  Thankful. 

The  big  man  answered.  His  sunburned,  good-humored 
face  was  wrinkled  and  puckered  with  amazement. 

"Well,"  he  stammered,  "I — we — Humph !  well,  we're 
neighbors  and — but — but,  I  don't  know  as  I  know  you, 
ma'am,  do  I?" 

"I  don't  know  why  you  should.  I  don't  know  you, 
fur's  that  goes.  What  are  you  doin'  here?  Did  that 
depot-wagon  man  send  you?" 

"Depot-wagon  man?  No,  ma'am;  nobody  sent  us. 
Kenelm — er — Mr.  Parker  here,  saw  a  light  a  spell  ago 
and,  bein'  as  this  house  is  supposed  to  be  empty,  he " 

"Wait  a  minute!"  Miss  Howes  interrupted.  "Whose 
house  is  this?" 

"Why — why,  it  ain't  anybody's  house,  ma'am.  That  is, 
nobody  lives  here." 

"But  somebody  used  to  live  here,  it's  likely.  What 
was  his  name?" 

"His  name?  Well,  old  Laban  Eldredge  used  to  live 
here.  The  house  belongs  to  Captain  Abner  Cahoon's 
heirs,  I  believe,  and " 

Again  Thankful  interrupted. 

"I  knew  it!"  she  cried,  excitedly.  "I  wondered  if  it 
mightn't  be  so  and  when  I  see  that  picture  of  Uncle 
Abner  I  was  sure.  All  right,  Mr.  Whoever-you-are,  then 

31 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

I'm  here  because  I  own  the  house.  My  name's  Barnes, 
Thankful  Barnes  of  South  Middleboro,  and  I'm  Abner 
Cahoots  heir.  Emily,  this — this  rattle-trap  you  and  I 
broke  into  is  the  'property'  we've  talked  so  much  about." 


CHAPTER  III 

EMILY  said — well,  the  first  thing  she  said  was,  "Oh, 
Aunt  Thankful!"  Then  she  added  that  she 
couldn't  believe  it. 

"It's  so,"  declared  Mrs.  Barnes,  "whether  we  believe 
it  or  not.  When  you  come  to  think  it  over  there's  nothin' 
so  wonderful  about  it,  after  all.  I  had  a  sneakin'  sus 
picion  when  I  was  sittin'  here  by  you,  after  you'd  gone 
to  sleep.  What  I  saw  afterwards  made  me  almost  sure. 
I — Hum!  I  guess  likely  that'll  keep  till  we  get  to  the 
hotel,  if  we  ever  do  get  there.  Perhaps  Mr. — Mr. " 

"Bangs  is  my  name,  ma'am,"  said  the  big  man  with  the 
lantern.  "Obed  Bangs." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Bangs.  Or  it's  'Cap'n  Bangs/  ain't 
it?" 

"They  generally  call  me  Cap'n,  ma'am,  though  I  ain't 
been  doin'  any  active  seafarin'  for  some  time." 

"I  thought  as  much.  Down  here  on  Cape  Cod,  and 
givin'  orders  the  way  I  heard  you  afore  you  come  into 
this  room,  'twas  nine  chances  to  one  you  was  a  cap'n, 
or  you  had  been  one.  Bangs — Bangs — Obed  Bangs? 
Why,  that  name  sounds  kind  of  familiar.  Seems  as  if — 
Cap'n  Bangs,  you  didn't  use  to  know  Eben  Barnes  of 
Provincetown,  did  you?" 

"Eben  Barnes?  Cap'n  Eben  of  the  White  Foam,  lost 
off  Cape  Hatteras  in  a  gale?" 

33 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Yes,  that's  the  one.  I  thought  I  heard  him  speak  of 
you.  He  was  my  husband." 

Captain  Obed  Bangs  uttered  an  exclamation.  Then 
he  stepped  forward  and  seized  Mrs.  Barnes'  hand.  The 
lady's  hand  was  not  a  very  small  one  but  the  Captain's 
was  so  large  that,  as  Thankful  remarked  afterward,  it 
might  have  shaken  hers  twice  at  the  same  time. 

"Eben  Barnes'  wife !"  exclaimed  Captain  Obed.  "Why, 
Eben  and  I  was  messmates  on  I  don't  know  how  many 
v'yages!  Well,  well,  well,  ma'am,  I'm  real  glad  to  see 
you." 

"You  ain't  so  glad  as  we  are  to  see  you — and  your 
friend,"  observed  Thankful,  drily.  "Is  he  a  captain, 
too?" 

He  didn't  look  like  one,  certainly.  He  had  removed 
his  sou'wester,  uncovering  a  round  head,  with  reddish- 
gray  hair  surrounding  a  bald  spot  at  the  crown.  He  had 
a  double  chin  and  a  smile  which  was  apologetic  but  in 
gratiating.  He  seemed  less  frightened  than  when  he  first 
entered  the  room,  but  still  glanced  about  him  with  evident 
apprehension. 

"No — no,  ma'am,"  he  stammered,  in  answer  to  the 
question.  "No,  ma'am,  I — I — my  name's  Parker.  I — I 
ain't  a  cap'n ;  no,  ma'am." 

"Kenelm  ain't  been  promoted  yet,"  observed  Captain 
Obed  gravely.  "He's  waitin'  until  he  get's  old  enough 
to  go  to  sea.  Ain't  that  it,  Kenelm  ?" 

Kenelm  smiled  and  shifted  his  sou'wester  from  his 
right  hand  to  his  left. 

"I — I  cal'late  so,"  he  answered. 

"Well,  it  don't  make  any  difference,"  declared  Thank 
ful.  "My  cousin  and  I  are  just  as  glad  to  see  him  as  if 
he  was  an  admiral.  We've  been  waitin'  so  long  to  see 
any  human  bein'  that  we'd  begun  to  think  they  was  all 

34 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

drowned.  But  you  haven't  met  my  cousin  yet.  Her 
name's  Howes." 

Emily,  who  had  stood  by,  patient  but  chilly,  during  the 
introductions  and  reminiscences,  shook  hands  with  Cap 
tain  Bangs  and  Mr.  Parker.  Both  gentlemen  said  they 
were  pleased  to  meet  her;  no,  Captain  Obed  said  that — 
Kenelm  said  that  he  was  "glad  to  be  acquaintanced." 

"I  don't  know  as  we  hadn't  ought  to  beg  your  pardon 
for  creepin'  in  on  you  this  way,"  said  the  captain.  "We 
thought  the  house  was  empty.  We  didn't  know  you  was 
visitin'  your — your  property." 

"Well,  so  far  as  that  goes,  neither  did  we.  I  don't 
wonder  you  expected  to  find  burglars  or  tramps  or  what 
ever  you  did  expect.  We've  had  an  awful  time  this  night, 
ain't  we,  Emily  ?" 

"We  certainly  have,"  declared  Miss  Howes,  with  em 
phasis. 

"Yes,  you  see " 

She  gave  a  brief  history  of  the  cruise  and  wreck  of  the 
depot-wagon.  Also  of  their  burglarious  entry  of  the 
house. 

"And  now,  Cap'n,"  she  said,  in  conclusion,  "if  you 
could  think  up  any  way  of  our  gettin'  to  that  hotel,  we'd 
be  ever  so  much  obliged.  .  .  .  Hello!  There's  that 
driver,  I  do  believe !  And  about  time,  I  should  say !" 

From  without  came  the  sound  of  wheels  and  the  voice 
of  Winnie  S.,  hailing  his  missing  passengers. 

"Hi!    Hi-i!    Where  be  ye?" 

"He'll  wear  his  lungs  out,  screamin'  that  way,"  snapped 
Thankful.  "Can't  he  see  the  light,  for  goodness  sakes?" 

Captain  Obed  answered.  "He  couldn't  see  nothin'  un 
less  'twas  hung  on  the  end  of  his  nose,"  he  said.  "That 
boy's  eyes  and  brains  ain't  connected.  Here,  Kenelm," 
turning  to  Mr.  Parker,  "you  go  out  and  tell  Win  to  shut 

35 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

down  on  his  fog  whistle;  he's  wastin'  steam.  Tell  him 
the  women-folks  are  in  here.  Look  alive,  now!" 

Kenelm  looked  alive,  but  not  much  more  than  that. 

"All  right,  Cap'n,"  he  stammered.  "A — a — all  right. 
What — what — shall  I  say — what  shall  I — had  I  bet 
ter " 

"Thunderation !  Do  you  need  a  chart  and  compass  ? 
Stay  where  you  are.  I'll  say  it  myself." 

He  strode  to  the  window,  threw  it  open,  and  shouted 
in  a  voice  which  had  been  trained  to  carry  above  worse 
gales  than  the  present  one : 

"Ahoy!  Ahoy!  Win!  Fetch  her  around  aft  here. 
Lay  alongside  the  kitchen  door!  D'you  hear?  Ahoy! 
Win!  d'you  hear?" 

Silence.  Then,  after  a  moment,  came  the  reply.  "Yup, 
I  hear  ye.  Be  right  there." 

The  captain  turned  from  the  window. 

"Took  some  time  for  him  to  let  us  know  he  heard, 
didn't  it,"  he  observed.  "Cal'late  he  had  to  say  'Judas 
priest'  four  or  five  times  afore  he  answered.  If  you  cut 
all  the  'Judas  priests'  out  of  that  boy's  talk  he'd  be  next 
door  to  tongue-tied." 

Thankful  turned  to  her  relative. 

"There,  Emily,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "I 
guess  likely  we'll  make  the  hotel  this  tack.  I  begun  to 
think  we  never  would." 

Captain  Bangs  shook  his  head. 

"You  won't  go  to  no  hotel  this  night,"  he  said,  de 
cidedly.  "It's  a  long  ways  off  and  pretty  poor  harbor 
after  you  make  it.  You'll  come  right  along  with  me  and 
Kenelm  to  his  sister's  house.  It's  only  a  little  ways  and 
Hannah's  got  a  spare  room  and  she'll  be  glad  to  have 
you.  I'm  boardin'  there  myself  just  now.  Yes,  you  will," 
he  added.  "Of  course  you  will.  Suppose  I'm  goin'  to  let 

36 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

relations  of  Eben  Barnes  put  up  at  the  East  Wellmouth 
tavern  ?  By  the  everlastin',  I  guess  not !  I  wouldn't  send 
a — a  Democrat  there.  Come  right  along!  Don't  say 
another  word." 

Both  of  the  ladies  said  other  words,  a  good  many 
of  them,  but  they  might  as  well  have  been  orders  to  the 
wind  to  stop  blowing.  Captain  Obed  Bangs  was,  evi 
dently,  a  person  accustomed  to  having  his  own  way. 
Even  as  they  were  still  protesting  their  new  acquaintance 
led  them  to  the  kitchen  door,  where  Winnie  S.  and  a 
companion,  a  long-legged  person  who  answered  to  the 
name  of  "Jabez,"  were  waiting  on  the  front  seat  of  a 
vehicle  attached  to  a  dripping  and  dejected  horse.  To 
the  rear  of  this  vehicle  "General  Jackson"  was  tethered 
by  a  halter.  Winnie  S.  was  loaded  to  the  guards  with 
exclamatory  explanations. 

"Judas  priest!"  he  exclaimed,  as  the  captain  assisted 
Mrs.  Barnes  and  Emily  into  the  carriage.  "If  I  ain't 
glad  to  see  you  folks !  When  I  got  back  here  and  there 
wa'n't  a  sign  of  you  nowheres,  I  was  took  some  off  my 
pins,  I  tell  ye.  Didn't  know  what  to  do.  I  says  to  Jabez, 
I  Says " 

Captain  Obed  interrupted.  "Never  mind  what  you  said 
to  Jabez,  Win,"  he  said.  "Why  didn't  you  get  back 
sooner?  That's  what  we  want  to  know." 

Winnie  S.  was  righteously  indignant.  "Sooner!"  he 
repeated.  "Judas  priest!  I  tell  ye  right  now  I'm  lucky 
to  get  back  at  all.  Took  me  pretty  nigh  an  hour  to  get 
to  the  village.  Such  travelin'  I  never  see.  Tried  to  save 
time  by  takin'  the  short  cut  acrost  the  meadow,  and  there 
ain't  no  meadow  no  more.  It's  three  foot  under  water. 
You  never  see  such  a  tide.  So  back  I  had  to  frog  it 
and  when  I  got  far  as  Jabe's  house  all  hands  had  turned 
in.  I  had  to  pretty  nigh  bust  the  door  down  'fore  I  could 

37 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

wake  anybody  up.  Then  Jabe  he  had  to  get  dressed  and 
we  had  to  harness  up  and — hey?  Did  you  say  anything, 
ma'am  ?" 

The  question  was  addressed  to  Mrs.  Barnes,  who  had 
been  vainly  trying  to  ask  one  on  her  own  account. 

"I  say  have  you  got  our  valises?"  asked  Thankful. 
"Last  I  saw  of  them  they  was  in  that  other  wagon,  the 
one  that  broke  down." 

The  driver  slapped  his  knee.  "Judas  priest!"  he  cried. 
"I  forgot  all  about  them  satchels.  Here,  Jabe,"  handing 
the  reins  to  his  companion.  "You  take  the  helium  while 
I  run  back  and  fetch  'em." 

He  was  back  in  a  few  moments  with  the  missing 
satchels.  Then  Jabez,  who  was  evidently  not  given  to 
wasting  words,  drawled :  "Did  you  get  the  mail  ?  That's 
in  there,  too,  ain't  it?" 

"Judas  priest!  So  'tis.  Why  didn't  you  remind  me 
of  it  afore?  Set  there  like — like  a  wooden  figurehead 
and  let  me  run  my  legs  off " 

His  complaints  died  away  in  the  distance.  At  last, 
with  the  mail  barj  under  the  seat,  the  caravan  moved  on. 
It  was  still  raining,  but  not  so  hard,  and  the  wind  blew 
less  fiercely.  They  jogged  and  rocked  and  splashed  on 
ward.  Suddenly  Winnie  S.  uttered  another  shout. 

"The  lantern!"  he  cried.  "Where's  that  lantern  I  lent 
ye?" 

"It's  there  in  the  house,"  said  Thankful.  "It  burned 
itself  out  and  I  forgot  it.  Mercy  on  us !  You're  not  goin' 
back  after  that,  I  hope." 

"Well,  I  dunno.  That  lantern  belongs  to  the  old  man — 
dad,  I  mean — and  he  sets  a  lot  of  store  by  it.  If  I've 
lost  that  lantern  on  him,  let  alone  leavin'  his  depot-wagon 
all  stove  up,  he'll  give  me " 

"Never  mind  what  he'll  give  you,"  broke  in  Captain 

38 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Bangs.  "You  keep  on  your  course  or  I'll  give  you  some- 
thin'.  Don't  you  say  another  word  till  we  get  abreast  of 
Hannah  Parker's." 

"Humph!  We're  there  now.  I  thought  these  folks 
was  goin'  to  our  hotel." 

"Take  my  advice  and  don't  think  so  much.  You'll 
open  a  seam  in  your  head  and  founder,  first  thing  you 
know.  Here  we  are !  And  here's  Hannah !  Hannah, 
Kenelm  and  I've  brought  you  a  couple  of  lodgers.  Now, 
ma'am,  if  you'll  stand  by.  Kenelm,  open  that  hatch." 

Mr.  Parker  opened  the  hatch — the  door  of  the  carriage 
— and  the  captain  assisted  the  passengers  to  alight.  Emily 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  white  front  of  a  little  house  and 
of  a  tall,  angular  woman  standing  in  the  doorway  holding 
a  lamp.  Then  she  and  Mrs.  Barnes  were  propelled  by 
the  strong  arms  of  their  pilot  through  that  doorway  and 
into  a  little  sitting-room,  bright  and  warm  and  cheery. 

"There !"  declared  Captain  Obed.  "That  cruise  is  over. 
Kenelm !  Where  is  Kenelm  ?  Oh,  there  you  are !  You 
tell  that  Winnie  S.  to  trot  along.  We'll  settle  for  passage 
tomorrow  mornin'.  Now,  ma'am,"  turning  to  Thankful, 
"you  and  your  relation  want  to  make  yourselves  as  com- 
f 'table  as  you  can.  This  is  Miss  Parker,  Kenelm's  sister. 
Hannah,  this  is  Mrs.  Barnes,  Eben  Barnes'  widow. 
You've  heard  me  speak  of  him.  And  this  is  Miss  Howes. 
I  cal'late  they're  hungry  and  I  know  they're  wet.  Seems's 
if  dry  clothes  and  supper  might  be  the  next  items  on  the 
manifest." 

Miss  Parker  rose  to  the  occasion.  She  flew  about  pre 
paring  the  "items."  Thankful  and  Emily  were  shown  to 
the  spare  room,  hot  water  and  towels  were  provided,  the 
valise  was  brought  in.  When  the  ladies  again  made  their 
appearance  in  the  sitting-room,  they  were  arrayed  in  dry, 
warm  garments,  partly  their  own  and  partly  supplied 

39 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

from  the  wardrobe  of  their  hostess.  As  to  the  fit  of  these 
latter,  Mrs.  Barnes  expressed  her  opinion  when  she 
said: 

"Don't  look  at  me,  Emily.  I  feel  like  a  barrel  squeezed 
into  an  umbrella  cover.  This  dress  is  long  enough,  land 
knows,  but  that's  about  all  you  can  say  of  it.  However, 
I  suppose  we  hadn't  ought  to — to  look  a  gift  dress  in  the 
waistband." 

Supper  was  ready  in  the  dining-room  and  thither  they 
were  piloted  by  Kenelm,  whose  hair,  what  there  was  of  it, 
was  elaborately  "slicked  down,"  and  whose  celluloid  collar 
had  evidently  received  a  scrubbing.  In  the  dining-room 
they  found  Captain  Bangs  awaiting  them.  Miss  Parker 
made  her  appearance  bearing  a  steaming  teapot.  Hannah, 
now  that  they  had  an  opportunity  to  inspect  her,  was 
seen  to  be  as  tall  and  sharp- featured  as  her  brother  was 
short  and  round.  She  was  at  least  fifteen  years  older 
than  he,  but  she  moved  much  more  briskly.  Also  she 
treated  Kenelm  as  she  might  have  treated  a  child,  an  only 
child  who  needed  constant  suppression. 

"Please  to  be  seated,  everybody,"  she  said.  "Cap'n 
Obed,  you  take  your  reg'lar  place.  Mrs.  Barnes,  if  you'll 
be  so  kind  as  to  set  here,  and  Miss  Howes  next  to  you. 
Kenelm,  you  set  side  of  me.  Set  down,  don't  stand  there 
fidgetin'.  What  did  you  put  on  that  necktie  for?  I  told 
you  to  put  on  the  red  one." 

Kenelm  fingered  his  tie.  "I — I  cal'late  I  must  have 
forgot,  Hannah,"  he  stammered.  "1  never  noticed.  This 
one's  all  right,  ain't  it?" 

"All  right !  It'll  have  to  be.  You  can't  change  it  now. 
But,  for  goodness  sakes,  look  out  it  stays  on.  The  elas 
tic's  all  worn  loose  and  it's  li'ble  to  drop  into  your  tea 
or  anywheres  else.  Now,"  with  a  sudden  change  from  a 
family  to  a  "company"  manner,  "may  I  assist  you  to  a 

40 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

piece  of  the  cold  ham,  Miss  Howes?  I  trust  you  are 
feelin'  quite  restored  to  yourself  again?" 

Emily's  answer  being  in  the  affirmative,  their  hostess 
continued : 

"I'm  so  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  set  nothin'  but  cold  ham 
and  toast  and  tea  before  you,"  she  said.  "If  I  had  known 
you  was  comin'  I  should  have  prepared  somethin'  more 
fittin'.  After  such  an  experience  as  you  must  have  been 
through  this  night  to  set  down  to  ham  and  toast !  I — I 
declare  I  feel  real  debilitated  and  ashamed  to  offer  'em 
to  you." 

Thankful  answered. 

"Don't  say  a  word,  Miss  Parker,"  she  said,  heartily. 
"We're  the  ones  that  ought  to  be  ashamed.  Landin'  on 
you  this  way  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  You're  awfully 
good  to  take  us  in  at  all.  My  cousin  and  I  were  on  our 
way  to  the  hotel,  but  Cap'n  Bangs  wouldn't  hear  of  it. 
He's  responsible  for  our  comin'  here." 

Miss  Parker  nodded. 

"Cap'n  Obed  is  the  most  hospital  soul  livin',"  she  said, 
grandly.  "He  done  just  right.  If  he'd  done  anything 

else  Kenelm  and  I  would  have  felt  hurt.  I Look 

out!"  with  a  sudden  snatch  at  her  brother's  shirtfront. 
"There  goes  that  tie.  Another  second  and  'twould  have 
been  right  in  your  plate." 

Kenelm  snapped  the  loop  of  the  "made"  tie  over  his. 
collar  button.  "Don't  grab  at  me  that  way,  Hannah," 
he  protested  mildly.  "I'm  kind  of  nervous  tonight,  after 
what  I've  been  through.  'Twouldn't  have  done  no  great 
harm  if  I  had  dropped  it.  I  could  pick  it  up  again, 
couldn't  I?" 

"You  could,  but  I  doubt  if  you  would.  You  might  have 
ate  it,  you're  so  absent-minded.  Nervous !  You  nervous ! 
What  do  you  think  of  me?  Mrs.  Barnes,"  turning  to 

41 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Thankful  and  once  more  resuming  the  "company"  man 
ner,  "you'll  excuse  our  bein'  a  little  upset.  You  see,  when 
my  brother  came  home  and  said  he'd  seen  lights  movin' 
around  in  the  old  Barnes'  house,  he  frightened  us  all 
pretty  near  to  death.  All  Cap'n  Obed  could  think  of  was 
tramps,  or  thieves  or  somethin'.  Nothin'  would  do  but 
he  must  drag  Kenelm  right  back  to  see  who  or  what  was 
in  there.  And  I  was  left  alone  to  imagine  all  sorts  of 
dreadful  things.  Tramps  I  might  stand.  They  belong 
to  this  world,  anyhow.  But  in  that  house,  at  eleven 

o'clock  at  night,  I Mrs.  Barnes,  do  you  believe  in 

aberrations  ?" 

Thankful  was  nonplused.    "In — in  which?"  she  asked. 

"In  aberrations,  spirits  of  dead  folks  comin'  alive 
again  ?" 

For  just  a  moment  Mrs.  Barnes  hesitated.  Then  she 
glanced  at  Emily,  who  was  trying  hard  not  to  smile,  and 
answered,  with  decision:  "No,  I  don't." 

"Well,  I  don't  either,  so  far  as  that  goes.  I  never  see 
one  myself,  and  I've  never  seen  anybody  that  has.  But 
when  Kenelm  came  tearin'  in  to  say  he'd  seen  a  light 
in  a  house  shut  up  as  long  as  that  one  has  been,  and  a 
house  that  folks " 

Captain  Bangs  interrupted.  He  had  been  regarding 
Thankful  closely  and  now  he  changed  the  subject. 

"How  did  it  happen  you  saw  that  light,  Kenelm?"  he 
asked.  "What  was  you  doin'  over  in  that  direction  a 
night  like  this?" 

Kenelm  hesitated.  He  seemed  to  find  it  difficult  to 
answer. 

"Why — why — "  he  stammered,  "I'd  been  up  to  the 
office  after  the  mail.  And — and — it  was  so  late  comin' 
that  I  give  it  up.  I  says  to  Lemuel  Ryder,  'Lem,'  I 

says " 

42 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

His  sister  broke  in. 

"Lem  Ryder!"  she  repeated.  "Was  he  at  the  post- 
office?" 

"Well — well — "  Kenelm's  confusion  was  more  marked 
than  ever.  "Well — well — "  he  stammered,  "I  see  him, 
and  I  says " 

"You  see  him!  Where  did  you  see  him?  Kenelm 
Parker,  I  don't  believe  you  was  at  the  postoffice  at  all. 
You  was  at  the  clubroom,  that's  where  you  was.  At 
that  clubroom,  smokin'  and  playin'  cards  with  that  depri- 
vated  crowd  of  loafers  and  gamblers.  Tell  me  the  truth, 
now,  wasn't  you?" 

Mr.  Parker's  tie  fell  off  then,  but  neither  he  nor  his 
sister  noticed  it. 

"Gamblers!"  he  snorted.  "There  ain't  no  gamblers 
there.  Playin'  a  hand  or  two  of  Calif orny  Jack  just  for 
fun  ain't  gamblin'.  I  wouldn't  gamble,  not  for  a  million 
dollars." 

Captain  Obed  laughed.  "Neither  would  I,"  he  ob 
served.  "Nor  for  two  cents,  with  that  clubroom  gang; 
'twould  be  too  much  nerve  strain  collectin'  my  winnin's. 
I  see  now  why  you  come  by  the  Barnes'  house,  Kenelm. 
It's  the  nighest  way  home  from  that  clubhouse.  Well, 
I'm  glad  you  did.  Mrs.  Barnes  and  Miss  Howes  would 
have  had  a  long  session  in  the  dark  if  you  hadn't.  Yes, 
and  a  night  at  Darius  Holt's  hotel,  which  would  have 
been  a  heap  worse.  So  you've  been  livin'  at  South 
Middleboro,  Mrs.  Barnes,  have  you  ?  Does  Miss  Howes 
live  there,  too?" 

Thankful,  very  grateful  for  the  change  of  topic,  told 
of  her  life  since  her  husband's  death,  of  her  long  stay 
with  Mrs.  Pearson,  of  Emily's  teaching  school,  and  their 
trip  aboard  the  depot- wagon. 

"Well,"  exclaimed  Miss  Parker,  when  she  had  finished,. 

43 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"you  have  been  through  enough,  I  should  say !  A  reg'lar 
story-book  adventure,  ain't  it?  Lost  in  a  storm  and  shut 
up  in  an  empty  house,  the  one  you  come  purpose  to  see. 
It's  a  mercy  you  wa'n't  either  of  you  hurt,  climbin'  in 
that  window  the  way  you  did.  You  might  have  broke 
your  arms  or  your  necks  or  somethin'.  Mr.  Alpheus 
Bassett,  down  to  the  Point — a  great,  strong,  fleshy  man, 
weighs  close  to  two  hundred  and  fifty  and  never  sick  a 
day  in  his  life — he  was  up  in  the  second  story  of  his 
buildin'  walkin'  around  spry  as  anybody — all  alone,  which 
he  shouldn't  have  been  at  his  age — and  he  stepped  on  a 
fish  and  away  he  went.  And  the  next  thing  we  hear  he's 
in  bed  with  his  collar-bone.  Did  you  ever  hear  anything 
like  that  in  your  life,  Miss  Howes?" 

It  was  plain  that  Emily  never  had.  "I — I'm  afraid  I 
don't  understand,"  she  faltered.  "You  say  he  was  in  the 
second  story  of  a  building  and  he  stepped  on — on  a  fish?" 

"Yes,  just  a  mackerel  'twas,  and  not  a  very  big  one, 
they  tell  me.  At  first  they  was  afraid  'twas  the  spine 
he'd  broke,  but  it  turned  out  to  be  only  the  collar-bone, 
though  that's  bad  enough." 

Captain  Obed  burst  into  a  laugh.  "  'Twa'n't  the  mack 
erel's  collar-bone,  Miss  Howes,"  he  explained,  "though 
I  presume  likely  that  was  broke,  too,  if  Alpheus  stepped 
on  it.  He  was  up  in  the  loft  of  his  fish  shanty  icin'  and 
barrelin'  fish  to  send  to  Boston,  and  he  fell  downstairs. 
Wonder  it  didn't  kill  him." 

Miss  Parker  nodded.  "That's  what  I  say,"  she  de 
clared.  "And  Sarah — that's  his  wife — tells  me  the  doc 
tors  are  real  worried  because  the  fraction  ain't  ignited 
yet." 

Thankful  coughed  and  then  observed  that  she  should 
think  they  would  be. 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  she  added,  "I  think  it's  high  time 

44 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

all  hands  went  to  bed.  It  must  be  way  along  into  the 
small  hours  and  if  we  set  here  any  longer  it'll  be  time 
for  breakfast.  You  folks  must  be  tired,  settin'  up  this 
way  and  I'm  sure  Emily  and  I  am.  If  we  turn  in  now 
we  may  have  a  chance  to  look  over  that  precious  property 
of  mine  afore  we  go  back  to  South  Middleboro.  I  don't 
know,  though,  as  we  haven't  seen  enough  of  it  already. 
It  don't  look  very  promisin'  to  me." 

The  captain  rose  from  the  table  and,  walking  to  the 
window,  pushed  aside  the  shade. 

"It'll  look  better  tomorrow — today,  I  should  say,"  he 
observed.  "The  storm's  about  over,  and  the  wind's 
hauled  to  the  west'ard.  We'll  have  a  spell  of  fair  weather 
now,  I  guess.  That  property  of  yours,  Mrs.  Barnes,  '11 
look  a  lot  more  promisin'  in  the  sunshine.  There's  no 
better  view  along  shore  than  from  the  front  windows  of 
that  house.  'Tain't  half  bad,  that  old  house  ain't.  All 
it  needs  is  fixin'  up." 

Good  nights — good  mornings,  for  it  was  after  two 
o'clock — were  said  and  the  guests  withdrew  to  their 
bedroom.  Once  inside,  with  the  door  shut,  Thankful 
and  Emily  looked  at  each  other  and  both  burst  out 
laughing. 

"Oh,  dear  me!"  gasped  the  former,  wiping  her  eyes. 
"Maybe  it's  mean  to  laugh  at  folks  that's  been  as  kind 
to  us  as  these  Parkers  have  been,  but  I  never  had  such 
a  job  keepin'  a  straight  face  in  my  life.  When  she  said 
she  was  'debilitated'  at  havin'  to  give  us  ham  and  toast 
that  was  funny  enough,  but  what  come  afterwards  was 
funnier.  The  'fraction'  ain't  'ignited'  yet  and  the  doctors 
are  worried.  I  should  think  they'd  be  more  worried  if 
it  had." 

Emily  shook  her  head.  "I  am  glad  I  didn't  have  to 
answer  that  remark,  Auntie,"  she  said.  "I  never  could 

45 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

have  done  it  without  disgracing  myself.  She  is  a  genuine 
Mrs.  Malaprop,  isn't  she?" 

This  was  a  trifle  too  deep  for  Mrs.  Barnes,  who  replied 
that  she  didn't  know,  she  having  never  met  the  Mrs. 
What's-her-name  to  whom  her  cousin  referred.  "She's  a 
genuine  curiosity,  this  Parker  woman,  if  that's  what  you 
mean,  Emily,"  she  said.  "And  so's  her  brother,  though 
a  different  kind  of  one.  We  must  get  Cap'n  Bangs  to 
tell  us  more  about  'em  in  the  mornin'.  He  thinks  that — 
that  heirloom  house  of  mine  will  look  better  in  the  day 
light.  Well,  I  hope  he's  right ;  it  looked  hopeless  enough 
tonight,  what  I  could  see  of  it." 

"I  like  that  Captain  Bangs,"  observed  Emily. 

"So  do  I.  It  seems  as  if  we'd  known  him  for  ever 
so  long.  And  how  his  salt-water  talk  does  take  me  back. 
Seems  as  if  I  was  hearin'  my  father  and  Uncle  Abner — 
yes,  and  Eben,  too — speakin'.  And  it  is  so  sort  of  good 
and  natural  to  be  callin'  somebody  'Cap'n/  I  was  brought 
up  amongst  cap'ns  and  I  guess  I've  missed  'em  more'n 
I  realized.  Now  you  must  go  to  sleep;  you'll  need  all 
the  sleep  you  can  get,  and  that  won't  be  much.  Good 
night." 

"Good  night,"  said  Emily,  sleepily.  A  few  minutes 
later  she  said :  "Auntie,  what  did  become  of  that  lantern 
our  driver  was  so  anxious  about?  The  last  I  saw  of  it 
it  was  on  the  floor  by  the  sofa  where  I  was  lying.  But 
I  didn't  seem  to  remember  it  after  the  captain  and  Mr. 
Parker  came." 

Mrs.  Barnes'  reply  was,  if  not  prompt,  at  least  con 
clusive. 

"It's  over  there  somewhere,"  she  said.  "The  light 
went  out,  but  it  ain't  likely  the  lantern  went  with  it. 
Now  you  go  to  sleep." 

Miss  Howes  obeyed.  She  was  asleep  very  soon  there- 

46 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

after.  But  Thankful  lay  awake,  thinking  and  wonder 
ing — yes,  and  dreading.  What  sort  of  a  place  was  this 
she  had  inherited?  She  distinctly  did  not  believe  in 
what  Hannah  Parker  had  called  "aberrations,"  but  she 
had  heard  something — something  strange  and  inexplicable 
in  that  little  back  bedroom.  The  groans  might  have  been 
caused  by  the  gale,  but  no  gale  spoke  English,  or  spoke 
at  all,  for  that  matter.  Who,  or  what,  was  it  that  had 
said  "Oh  Lord!"  in  the  darkness  and  solitude  of  that 
bedroom  ? 


CHAPTER  IV 

THANKFUL  opened  her  eyes.  The  sunlight  was 
streaming  in  at  the  window.  Beneath  that  win 
dow  hens  were  clucking  noisily.  Also  in  the 
room  adjoining  someone  was  talking,  protesting. 

"I  don't  know,  Hannah,''  said  Mr.  Parker's  voice.  "I 
tell  you  I  don't  know  where  it  is.  If  I  knew  I'd  tell  you, 
wouldn't  I?  I  don't  seem  to  remember  what  I  done 
with  it." 

"Well,  then,  you've  got  to  set  down  and  not  stir  tiH 
you  do  remember,  that's  all.  When  you  went  out  of  this 

house  last  evenin'  to  go  to  the  postoffice Oh,  yes! 

To  the  postoffice — that's  where  you  said  you  was  goin' — 
you  had  the  lantern  and  that  umbrella.  When  you  came 
back,  hollerin'  about  the  light  you  see  in  the  Cap'n  Abner 
house,  you  had  the  lantern.  But  the  umbrella  you  didn't 
have.  Now  where  is  it  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  Hannah.  I — I — do  seem  to  remember 
havin'  had  it,  but " 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you  remember  that  much.  You  lost 
one  of  your  mittens,  too,  but  'twas  an  old  one,  so  I  don't 
mind  that  so  much.  But  that  umbrella  was  your 
Christmas  present  and  'twas  good  gloria  silk  with 
a  real  gilt-plated  handle.  I  paid  two  dollars  and  a 
quarter  for  that  umbrella,  and  I  told  you  never  to  take 
it  out  in  a  storm  because  you  were  likely  to  turn  it  in 
side  out  and  spile  it.  If  I'd  seen  you  take  it  last  night  I'd 

48 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

have  stopped  you,  but  you  was  gone  afore  I  missed  it." 

"But — but,  consarn  it  all,  Hannah " 

"Don't  swear,  Kenelm.  Profanity  won't  help  you 
none." 

"I  wa'n't  swearin'.  All  I  say  is  what's  the  use  of  an 
umbrella  if  you  can't  hist  it  in  a  storm?  I  wouldn't  give 
a  darn  for  a  schooner  load  of  'em  when  'twas  fair 
weather.  I — I  cal'late  I — I  left  it  somewheres." 

"I  cal'late  you  did.  I'm  goin'  over  to  the  village  this 
mornin'  and  I'll  stop  in  at  that  clubhouse,  myself." 

"I — I  don't  believe  it's  at  the  clubhouse,  Hannah." 

"You  don't?    Why  don't  you?" 

"I — I  don't  know.  I  just  guess  it  ain't,  that's  all. 
Somethin'  seems  to  tell  me  'tain't." 

"Oh,  it  does,  hey?  I  want  to  know!  Hum!  Was 
you  anywheres  else  last  night?  Answer  me  the  truth 
now,  Kenelm  Parker.  Was  you  anywheres  else  last 
night?" 

"Anywheres  else.    What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 

"I  mean  what  I  say.  You  know  what  I  mean  well 
enough.  Was  you — well,  was  you  callin'  on  anybody  ?" 

"Callin'  on  anybody?    Callin'  on  'em?" 

"Yes,  callin'  on  'em.  Oh,  you  needn't  look  so  innocent 
and  buttery !  You  ain't  above  it.  Ain't  I  had  experience  ? 
Haven't  I  been  through  it?  Didn't  you  use  to  say  that  I, 
your  sister  that's  been  a  mother  to  you,  was  the  only 
woman  in  this  world  for  you,  and  then,  the  minute  I 
was  out  of  sight  and  hardly  out  of  hearin',  you " 

"My  soul!  You've  got  Abbie  Larkin  in  your  head 
again,  ain't  you?  It — it — I  swear  it's  a  reg'lar  disease 
with  you,  seems  so.  Ain't  I  told  you  I  ain't  seen  Abbie 
Larkin,  nor  her  me,  for  the  land  knows  how  long?  And 
I  don't  want  to  see  her.  My  time!  Do  you  suppose  I 
waded  and  paddled  a  mile  and  a  quarter  down  to  call 

49 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

on  Abbie  Larkin  a  night  like  last  night?  What  do  you 
think  I  am — a  bull  frog?  I  wouldn't  do  it  to  see  the — 
the  Queen  of  Rooshy." 

This  vehement  outburst  seemed  to  have  some  effect. 
Miss  Parker's  tone  was  more  conciliatory. 

"Well,  all  right,"  she  said.  "I  s'pose  likely  you  didn't 
call  on  her,  if  you  say  so,  Kenelm.  I  suppose  I  am  a 
foolish,  lone  woman.  But,  O  Kenelm,  I  do  think  such 
a  sight  of  you.  And  you  know  you've  got  money  and 
that  Abbie  Larkin  is  so  worldly  she'd  marry  you  for  it 
in  a  minute.  I  didn't  know  but  you  might  have  met  her." 

"Met  her!  Tut— tut— tut!  If  that  ain't — and  in  a 
typhoon  like  last  night!  Oh,  sartin,  I  met  her!  I  was 
up  here  on  top  of  Meetin'-house  Hill,  larnin'  her  to  swim 
in  the  mud  puddles.  You  do  talk  so  silly  sometimes, 
Hannah." 

"Maybe  I  do,"  with  a  sniff.  "Maybe  I  do,  Kenelm,  but 
you  mean  so  much  to  me.  I  just  can't  let  you  go." 

"Go!  I  ain't  goin'  nowheres,  am  I?  What  kind  of 
talk's  that?" 

"And  to  think  you'd  heave  away  that  umbrella — the 
umbrella  /  gave  you!  That's  what  makes  me  feel  so 
bad.  A  nice,  new,  gilt-plated  umbrella " 

"I  never  hove  it  away.  I — I — well,  I  left  it  some- 
wheres,  I — I  cal'late.  I'll  go  look  for  it  after  breakfast. 
Say,  when  are  we  goin'  to  have  breakfast,  anyhow  ?  It's 
almost  eight  o'clock  now.  Ain't  them  women-folks  ever 
goin'  to  turn  out?" 

Thankful  had  heard  enough.  She  was  out  of  bed  the 
next  instant. 

"Emily!  Emily!"  she  cried.  "It's  late.  We  must  get 
up  now." 

The  voices  in  the  sitting-room  died  to  whispers. 

"I — I  can't  help  it,"  pleaded  Kenelm.  "I  never  meant 

50 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

nothin'.  I  thought  they  was  asleep.  And  'tis  most  eight. 
By  time,  Hannah,  you  do  pick  on  me " 

A  vigorous  "Sshh!"  interrupted  him.  The  door  be 
tween  the  sitting-room  and  dining-room  closed  with  a 
slam.  Mrs.  Barnes  and  Emily  dressed  hurriedly. 

They  gathered  about  the  breakfast  table,  the  Parkers, 
Captain  Obed  and  the  guests.  Miss  Parker's  "company 
manner"  was  again  much  in  evidence  and  she  seemed  to 
feel  it  her  duty  to  lead  the  conversation.  She  professed 
to  have  discovered  a  striking  resemblance  between  Miss 
Howes  and  a  deceased  relative  of  her  own  named  Me- 
linda  Ellis. 

"The  more  I  see  of  you,  Miss  Howes,"  she  declared, 
"the  more  I  can't  help  thinkin'  of  poor  Melindy.  She 
was  pretty  and  had  dark  eyes  and  hair  same's  you've  got, 
and  that  same  sort  of — of  consumptic  look  to  her.  Not 
that  you've  got  consumption,  I  don't  mean  that.  Only 
you  look  the  way  she  done,  that's  all.  She  did  have 
consumption,  poor  thing.  Everybody  thought  she'd  die 
of  it,  but  she  didn't.  She  got  up  in  the  night  to  take 
some  medicine  and  she  took  the  wrong  kind — toothache 
lotion  it  was  and  awful  powerful — and  it  ate  right 
through  to  her  diagram.  She  didn't  live  long  afterwards, 
poor  soul." 

No  one  said  anything  for  a  moment  after  this  tragic 
recital.  Then  Captain  Bangs  observed  cheerfully : 

"Well,  I  guess  Miss  Howes  ain't  likely  to  drink  any 
toothache  lotion." 

Hannah  nodded  sedately.  "I  trust  not,"  she  said. 
"But  accidents  do  happen.  And  Melindy  and  Miss 
Howes  look  awful  like  each  other.  You're  real  well, 
I  hope,  Miss  Howes.  After  bein'  exposed  the  way  you 
was  last  night  I  hope  you  haven't  caught  cold.  You 
never  can  tell  what'll  follow  a  cold — with  some  people." 

51 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Thankful  was  glad  when  the  meal  was  over.  She,  too, 
was  fearful  that  her  cousin  might  have  taken  cold  during 
the  wet  chill  of  the  previous  night.  But  Emily  declared 
she  was  very  well  indeed ;  that  the  very  sight  of  the  sunlit 
sea  through  the  dining-room  windows  had  acted  like  a 
tonic. 

'Good  enough!"  exclaimed  Captain  Obed,  heartily. 
"Then  we  ought  to  be  gettin'  a  bigger  dose  of  that  tonic. 
Mrs.  Barnes,  if  you  and  Miss  Howes  would  like  to  walk 
over  and  have  a  look  at  that  property  of  yours,  now's  as 
good  a  time  as  any  to  be  doin'  it.  I'll  go  along  with 
you  if  I  won't  be  in  the  way." 

Thankful  looked  down  rather  doubtfully  at  the  bor 
rowed  gown  she  was  wearing,  but  Miss  Parker  came  to 
the  rescue  by  announcing  that  her  guests'  own  garments 
must  be  dry  by  this  time,  they  had  been  hanging  by  the 
stove  all  night.  So,  after  the  change  had  been  made,  the 
two  left  the  Parker  residence  and  took  the  foot-path  at 
the  top  of  the  bluff.  Captain  Obed  seemed  at  first  rather 
uneasy. 

"Hope  I  ain't  hurryin'  you  too  much,"  he  said.  "I 
thought  maybe  it  would  be  just  as  well  to  get  out  of  sight 
of  Hannah  as  quick  as  possible.  She  might  take  a  notion 
to  come  with  us.  I  thought  sure  Kenelm  would,  but  he's 
gone  on  a  cruise  of  his  own  somewheres.  He  hustled 
outdoor  soon  as  breakfast  was  over." 

Emily  burst  out  laughing.  "Excuse  me,  please,"  she 
said,  "but  I've  been  dying  to  do  this  for  so  long.  That — 
that  Miss  Parker  is  the  oddest  person !" 

The  captain  grinned.  "Thinkin'  about  that  'diagram' 
yarn?"  he  asked.  " 'Tis  funny  when  you  hear  it  the 
first  four  or  five  times.  Hannah  Parker  can  get  more 
wrong  words  in  the  right  places  than  anybody  I  ever 
run  across.  She  must  have  swallowed  a  dictionary 

52 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

some  time  or  'nother,  but  it  ain't  digested  well,  I'm 
afraid." 

Thankful  laughed,  too.  "You  must  find  her  pretty 
amusin',  Cap'n  Bangs,"  she  said. 

The  captain  shook  his  head.  "She's  a  reg'lar  dime 
show,"  he  observed.  Then  he  added :  "Only  trouble 
with  that  kind  of  a  show  is  it  gets  kind  of  tiresome  when 
you  have  to  set  through  it  all  winter.  There !  now  you 
can  see  your  property,  Mrs.  Barnes,  and  ten  mile  either 
side  of  it.  Look's  some  more  lifelike  and  cheerful  than 
it  did  last  night,  don't  it  ?" 

It  most  assuredly  did.  They  had  reached  the  summit 
of  a  little  hill  and  before  and  behind  and  beneath  them 
was  a  view  of  shore  and  sea  that  caused  Emily  to  utter 
an  exclamation  of  delight. 

"Oh !"  she  cried.  "What  a  view !  What  a  wonderful 
view !" 

Behind  them,  beyond  the  knoll  upon  which  stood  the 
little  Parker  house  which  they  had  just  left,  at  the  further 
side  of  the  stretch  of  salt  meadow  with  the  creek  and 
bridge,  was  East  Wellmouth  village.  Along  the  white 
sand  of  the  beach,  now  garlanded  with  lines  of  fresh  sea 
weed  torn  up  and  washed  ashore  by  the  gale,  were  scat 
tered  a  half  dozen  fishhouses,  with  dories  and  lobster 
pots  before  them,  and  at  the  rear  of  these  began  the  gray 
and  white  huddle  of  houses  and  stores,  with  two  white 
church  spires  and  the  belfry  of  the  schoolhouse  rising 
above  their  roofs. 

At  their  right,  only  a  few  yards  from  the  foot-path 
where  they  stood,  the  high  sand  bluff  broke  sharply  down 
to  the  beach  and  the  sea.  The  great  waves,  tossing  their 
white  plumes  on  high,  came  marching  majestically  in, 
to  trip,  topple  and  fall,  one  after  the  other,  in  roaring, 
hissing  Niagaras  upon  the  shore.  Over  their  raveled 

53 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

crests  the  gulls  dipped  and  soared.  The  air  was  clear, 
the  breeze  keen  and  refreshing  and  the  salty  smell  of  the 
torn  seaweed  rose  to  the  nostrils  of  the  watchers. 

To  the  left  were  barren  hills,  dotted  with  scrub,  and 
farther  on  the  pine  groves,  with  the  road  from  Wellmouth 
Centre  winding  out  from  their  midst. 

All  these  things  Thankful  and  Emily  noticed,  but  it 
was  on  the  prospect  directly  ahead  that  their  interest 
centered.  For  there,  upon  the  slope  of  the  next  knoll 
stood  the  "property"  they  had  come  to  see  and  to  which 
they  had  been  introduced  in  such  an  odd  fashion. 

Seen  by  daylight  and  in  the  glorious  sunshine  the  old 
Barnes  house  did  look,  as  their  guide  said,  more  "life 
like  and  cheerful."  A  big,  rambling,  gray-gabled  affair, 
of  colonial  pattern,  a  large  yard  before  it  and  a  larger 
one  behind,  the  tumble-down  shed  in  which  General  Jack 
son  had  been  tethered,  a  large  barn,  also  rather  tumble 
down,  with  henhouses  and  corncribs  beside  it  and  attached 
to  it  in  haphazard  fashion.  In  the  front  yard  were  over 
grown  clusters  of  lilac  and  rose  bushes  and,  behind  the 
barn,  was  the  stubble  of  a  departed  garden.  Thankful 
looked  at  all  these. 

"So  that's  it,"  she  said. 

"That's  it,"  said  Captain  Obed.  "What  do  you  think 
of  it?" 

"Humph!  Well,  there's  enough  of  it,  anyhow,  as  the 
little  boy  said  about  the  spring  medicine.  What  do  you 
think,  Emily?" 

Emily's  answer  was  prompt  and  emphatic. 

"I  like  it,"  she  declared.  "It  looks  so  different  this 
morning.  Last  night  it  seemed  lonesome  and  pokey  and 
horrid,  but  now  it  is  almost  inviting.  Think  what  it  must 
be  in  the  spring  and  summer.  Think  of  opening  those 
upper  windows  on  a  summer  morning  and  looking  out 

54 


and  away  for  miles  and  miles.     It  would  be  splendid!" 

"Um — yes.  But  spring  and  summer  don't  last  all  the 
time.  There's  December  and  January  and  February  to 
think  of.  Even  March  ain't  all  joy ;  we've  got  last  night 
to  prove  it  by.  However,  it  doesn't  look  quite  so  des 
perate  as  I  thought  it  might;  I'll  give  in  to  that.  Last 
night  I  was  about  ready  to  sell  it  for  the  price  of  a  return 
ticket  to  South  Middleboro.  Now  I  guess  likely  I  ought 
to  get  a  few  tradin'  stamps  along  with  the  ticket.  Humph ! 
This  sartin  isn't  all  Poverty  Lane,  is  it?  That  place 
wa'n't  built  with  tradin'  stamps.  Who  lives  there?" 

She  was  pointing  to  the  estate  adjoining  the  Barnes 
house  and  fronting  the  sea  further  on.  "Estate"  is  a 
much  abused  term  and  is  sometimes  applied  to  rather 
insignificant  holdings,  but  this  one  deserved  the  name. 
Great  stretches  of  lawns  and  shrubbery,  ornamental 
windmill,  greenhouses,  stables,  drives  and  a  towered  and 
turreted  mansion  dominating  all. 

"I  seem  to  have  aristocratic  neighbors,  anyhow,"  ob 
served  Mrs.  Barnes.  "Whose  tintype  belongs  in  that 
gilt  frame?" 

Captain  Obed  chuckled  at  the  question. 

"Why,  nobody's  just  now,"  he  said.  "There  was  one 
up  to  last  fall,  though  I  shouldn't  have  called  him  a  tin 
type.  More  of  a  panorama,  if  you  asked  me — or  him, 
either.  That  place  belonged  to  our  leadin'  summer  resi 
dent,  Mr.  Hamilton  Colfax,  of  New  York.  There's  a 
good  view  from  there,  too,  but  not  as  fine  as  this  one  of 
yours,  Mrs.  Barnes.  When  your  uncle,  Cap'n  Abner, 
bought  this  old  house  it  used  to  set  over  on  a  part  of 
that  land  there.  The  cap'n  didn't  like  the  outlook  so 
well  as  the  one  from  here,  so  he  bought  this  strip  and 
moved  the  house  down.  Quite  a  job  movin'  a  house  as 
old  as  this  one. 

55 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Air.  Colfax  died  last  October,"  he  added,  "and  the 
place  is  for  sale.  Good  deal  of  a  shock,  his  death  was, 
to  East  Wellmouth.  Kind  of  like  takin'  away  the  dough 
nut  and  leavin'  nothin'  but  the  hole.  The  Wellmouth 
Weekly  Advocate  pretty  nigh  gave  up  the  ghost  when 
Mr.  Colfax  did.  It  always  cal'lated  on  fillin'  at  least 
three  columns  with  the  doin's  of  the  Colfaxes  and  their 
'house  parties'  and  such.  All  summer  it  told  what  they 
did  do  and  all  winter  it  guessed  what  they  was  goin'  to 
do.  It  ain't  been  much  more  than  a  patent  medicine  ad- 
vertisin'  circular  since  the  blow  struck.  Well,  have  you 
looked  enough?  Shall  we  heave  ahead  and  go  aboard 
your  craft,  Mrs.  Barnes?" 

They  walked  on,  down  the  little  hill  and  up  the  next, 
and  entered  the  front  yard  of  the  Barnes  house.  There 
were  the  marks  in  the  mud  and  sand  where  the  depot- 
wagon  had  overturned,  but  the  wagon  itself  was  gone. 
"Cal'late  Winnie  S.  and  his  dad  come  around  early  and 
towed  it  home,"  surmised  Captain  Obed.  "Seemed  to  me 
I  smelled  sulphur  when  I  opened  my  bedroom  window 
this  mornin'.  Guess  'twas  a  sort  of  floatin"  memory  of 
old  man  Holt's  remarks  when  he  went  by.  That  depot- 
wagon  was  an  antique  and  antiques  are  valuable  these 
days.  Want  to  go  inside,  do  you?" 

Thankful  hesitated.  "I  haven't  got  the  key,"  she  said. 
"I  suppose  it's  at  that  Badger  man's  in  the  village.  You 
know  who  I  mean,  Cap'n  Bangs." 

The  captain  nodded. 

"Christopher  S.  H.  Badger,  tinware,  groceries,  real 
estate,  boots  and  shoes,  and  insurance,"  he  said.  "Like 
wise  justice  of  the  peace  and  first  mate  of  all  creation. 
Yes,  I  know  Chris." 

"Well,  he's  been  in  charge  of  this  property  of  mine. 
He  collected  the  rent  from  that  Mr.  Eldredge  who  used 

56 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

to  live  here.  I  had  a  good  many  letters  from  him, 
mainly  about  paintin'  and  repairs." 

"Urn — hum ;  I  ain't  surprised.  Chris  sells  paint  as  well 
as  tea  and  tinware.  He's  got  the  key,  has  he?" 

"I  suppose  he  has.  I  ought  to  have  gone  up  and  got 
it  from  him." 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  fret  about  it.  Of  course  we  can't 
go  in  the  front  door  like  the  minister  and  weddin'  com 
pany,  but  the  kitchen  door  was  unfastened  last  night  and 
I  presume  likely  it's  that  way  now.  You  haven't  any 
objection  to  the  kitchen  door,  have  you?  When  old 
Laban  lived  here  it's  a  safe  bet  he  never  used  any  other. 
Cur'ous  old  critter,  he  was." 

They  entered  by  the  kitchen  door.  The  inside  of  the 
house,  fike  the  outside,  was  transformed  by  day  and 
sunshine.  Tne  rooms  downstairs  were  large  and  well 
lighted,  and,  in  spite  of  their  emptiness,  they  seemed  al 
most  cheerful. 

"Whose  furniture  is  this?"  asked  Thankful,  referring 
to  the  stove  and  chair  and  sofa  in  the  dining-room. 

"Laban's ;  that  is,  it  used  to  be.  When  he  died  he 
didn't  have  chick  nor  child  nor  relation,  so  fur's  anybody 
knew,  and  his  stuff  stayed  right  here.  There  wa'n't  very 
much  of  it.  That  is "  He  hesitated. 

"But  there  must  have  been  more  than  this,"  said  Thank 
ful.  "What  became  of  it?" 

Captain  Obed  shook  his  head.  "You  might  ask  Chris 
Badger,"  he  suggested.  "Chris  sells  antiques  on  the  side 
— the  high  side." 

"Did  old  Mr.  Eldredge  live  here  all  alone?"  asked 
Emily. 

"Yup.  And  died  all  alone,  too.  Course  I  don't  mean 
he  was  alone  all  the  time  he  was  sick.  Most  of  that  time 
he  was  out  of  his  head  and  folks  could  stay  with  him, 

57 


.THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

but  he  came  to  himself  occasional  and  when  he  did  he'd 
fire  'em  out  because  feedin'  'em  cost  money.  He  wa'n't 
what  you'd  call  generous,  Laban  wa'n't." 

"Where  did  he  die?"  asked  Thankful,  who  was  looking 
out  of  the  window. 

"Upstairs  in  the  little  back  bedroom.  Smallest  room 
in  the  house  'tis,  and  folks  used  to  say  he  slept  there 
'cause  he  could  heat  it  by  his  cussin'  instead  of  a  stove. 
'Most  always  cussin',  he  was — cussin'  and  groanin'." 

Thankful  was  silent.  Emily  said :  "Groaning  ?  You 
mean  he  groaned  when  he  was  ill?" 

"Yes,  and  when  he  was  well,  too.  A  habit  of  his, 
groanin'  was.  I  don't  know  why  he  done  it — see  himself 
in  the  lookin'-glass,  maybe;  that  was  enough  to  make 
anybody  groan.  He'd  groan  in  his  sleep — or  snore — or 
both.  He  was  the  noisiest  sleeper  ever  I  set  up  with. 
Shall  we  go  upstairs?" 

The  narrow  front  stairs  creaked  as  loudly  in  the  day 
time  as  they  had  on  the  previous  night,  but  the  long  hall 
on  the  upper  floor  was  neither  dark  nor  terrifying. 
Nevertheless  it  was  with  just  a  suspicion  of  dread  that 
Mrs.  Barnes  approached  the  large  room  at  the  end  of 
the  hall  and  the  small  one  adjoining  it.  Her  common- 
sense  had  returned  and  she  was  naturally  brave,  but  an 
experience  such  as  hers  had  been  is  not  forgotten  in  a 
few  hours.  However,  she  was  determined  that  no  one 
should  know  her  feelings ;  therefore  she  was  the  first  to 
enter  the  little  room. 

"Here's  where  Laban  bunked,"  said  the  captain. 
"You'd  think  with  all  the  big  comf'table  bedrooms  to 
choose  from  he  wouldn't  pick  out  this  two-by-four,  would 
you?  But  he  did,  probably  because  nobody  else  would. 
He  was  a  contrary  old  rooster,  and  odd  as  Dick's  hat 
band." 

58 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Thankful  was  listening,  although  not  to  their  guide's 
remarks.  She  was  listening  for  sounds  such  as  she  had 
heard — or  thought  she  had  heard — on  the  occasion  of  her 
previous  visit  to  that  room.  But  there  were  no  such 
sounds.  There  was  the  bed,  the  patchwork  comforter, 
the  chair  and  the  pictures  on  the  walls,  but  when  she 
approached  that  bed  there  came  no  disturbing  groans. 
And,  by  day,  the  memory  of  her  fright  seemed  absolutely 
ridiculous.  For  at  least  the  tenth  time  she  solemnly 
resolved  that  no  one  should  ever  know  how  foolish  she 
had  been. 

Emily  uttered  an  exclamation  and  pointed. 

"Why,  Auntie !"  she  cried.  "Isn't  that — where  did  that 
lantern  come  from?" 

Captain  Obed  looked  where  she  was  pointing.  He 
stepped  forward  and  picked  up  the  overturned  lantern. 

"That's  Darius  Holt's  lantern,  I  do  believe,"  he  de 
clared.  "The  one  Winnie  S.  was  makin'  such  a  fuss 
about  last  night.  How  in  the  nation  did  it  get  up  here  ?" 

Thankful  laughed.  "I  brought  it  up,"  she  said.  "I 
come  on  a  little  explorin'  cruise  when  Emily  dropped 
asleep  on  that  sittin'-room  lounge,  but  I  hadn't  much 
more'n  got  in  here  when  the  pesky  thing  went  out.  You 
ought  to  have  seen  me  hurryin'  along  that  hall  to  get 
down  before  you  woke  up,  Emily.  No,  come  to  think 
of  it,  you  couldn't  have  seen  me — 'twas  too  dark  to 
see  anything.  .  .  .  Well,"  she  added,  quickly,  in 
order  to  head  off  troublesome  questioning,  "we've  looked 
around  here  pretty  well.  What  else  is  there  to  see  ?" 

They  visited  the  garret  and  the  cellar;  both  were 
spacious  and  not  too  clean. 

"If  I  crer  come  here  to  live,"  declared  Thankful,  with 
decision,  "there'll  be  some  dustin'  and  sweepin'  done,  I 
know  that" 

59 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Emily  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"Come  here  to  live!"  she  repeated.  "Why,  Auntie, 
are  you  thinking  of  coming  here  to  live?" 

Her  cousin's  answer  was  not  very  satisfactory.  "I've 
been  thinkin'  a  good  many  things  lately,"  she  said.  "Some 
of  'em  was  even  more  crazy  than  that  sounds." 

The  inside  of  the  house  having  been  thus  thoroughly 
inspected  they  explored  the  yard  and  the  outbuildings. 
The  barn  was  a  large  one,  with  stalls  for  two  horses  and 
a  cow  and  a  carriage-room  with  the  remnants  of  an  old- 
fashioned  carryall  in  it. 

"This  is  about  the  way  it  used  to  be  in  Cap'n  Abner's 
day,"  said  Captain  Obed.  "That  carryall  belonged  to 
your  uncle,  the  cap'n,  Mrs.  Barnes.  The  boys  have  had 
it  out  for  two  or  three  Fourth  of  July  Antiques  and  Hor 
ribles'  parades ;  'twon't  last  for  many  more  by  the  looks 
of  it." 

"And  what,"  asked  Thankful,  "is  that  ?  It  looks  like  a 
pigsty." 

They  were  standing  at  the  rear  of  the  house,  which 
was  built  upon  a  slope.  Under  the  washshed,  which 
adjoined  the  kitchen,  was  a  rickety  door.  Beside  that 
door  was  a  boarded  enclosure  which  extended  both  into 
the  yard  and  beneath  the  washshed. 

Captain  Bangs  laughed.  "You've  guessed  it,  first 
crack,"  he  said.  "It  is  a  pigpen.  Some  of  Laban's 
doin's,  that  is.  He  used  to  keep  a  pig  and  'twas  too  much 
trouble  to  travel  way  out  back  of  the  barn  to  feed  it, 
so  Labe  rigged  up  this  contraption.  That  door  leads 
into  the  potato  cellar.  Labe  fenced  off  half  the  cellar 
to  make  a  stateroom  for  the  pig.  He  thought  as  much 
of  that  hog  as  if  'twas  his  own  brother,  and  there  was 
a  sort  of  family  likeness." 

Thankful  snorted.  "A  pigsty  under  the  house!"  she 

60 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

said.  "Well,  that's  all  I  want  to  know  about  that 
man!" 

As  they  were  returning  along  the  foot-path  by  the  bluff 
Captain  Obed,  who  had  been  looking  over  his  shoulder, 
suddenly  stopped. 

''That's  kind  of  funny,"  he  said. 

"What?"  asked  Emily. 

"Oh,  nothin',  I  guess.  I  thought  I  caught  a  sight  of 
somebody  peekin'  around  the  back  of  that  henhouse. 
If  'twas  somebody  he  dodged  back  so  quick  I  couldn't 
be  sure.  Humph!  I  guess  I  was  mistaken,  or  'twas 
just  one  of  Solon  Taylor's  young  ones.  Solon's  a  sort  of 
— sort  of  stevedore  at  the  Colfax  place.  Lives  there  and 
takes  care  of  it  while  the  owners  are  away.  No-o ;  no, 
I  don't  see  nobody  now." 

Thankful  was  silent  during  the  homeward  walk.  When 
she  and  Miss  Howes  were  alone  in  their  room,  she  said : 

"Emily,  are  you  real  set  on  gettin'  back  to  South 
Middleboro  tonight?" 

"No,  Auntie.    Why?" 

"Well,  if  you  ain't  I  think  I'd  like  to  stay  over  another 
day.  I've  got  an  idea  in  my  head  and,  such  a  thing  bein' 
kind  of  unusual,  I'd  like  to  keep  company  with  it  for  a 
spell.  I'll  tell  you  about  it  by  and  by ;  probably  'twon't 
come  to  anything,  anyway." 

"But  do  you  think  we  ought  to  stay  here,  as  Miss 
Parker's  guests  ?  Wouldn't  it  be " 

"Of  course  it  would.  We'll  go  over  to  that  hotel,  the 
one  we  started  for  in  the  first  place.  Judgin'  from  what 
I  hear  of  that  tavern  it'll  be  wuth  experiencin' ;  and — and 
somethin'  may  come  of  that,  too." 

She  would  not  explain  further,  and  Emily,  knowing 
her  well,  did  not  press  the  point. 

Hannah  Parker  protested  volubly  when  her  "company" 

61 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

declared  its  intention  of  going  to  the  East  Wellmouth 
Hotel. 

"Of  course  you  shan't  do  no  such  thing,"  she  declared. 
"The  idea!  It's  no  trouble  at  all  to  have  you,  and  that 
hotel  really  ain't  fit  for  such  folks  as  you  to  stay  at.  Mrs. 
Bacon,  from  Boston,  stayed  there  one  night  in  November 
and  she  pretty  nigh  famished  with  the  cold,  to  say  nothin' 
of  havin'  to  eat  huckleberry  preserves  for  supper  two 
nights  runnin'.  Course  they  had  plenty  of  other  things 
in  the  closet,  but  they'd  opened  a  jar  of  huckleberries, 
so  they  had  to  be  et  up  afore  they  spiled.  That's  the 
way  they  run  that  hotel.  And  Mrs.  Bacon  is  eastern 
Massachusetts  delegate  from  the  State  Grange.  She's 
Grand  Excited  Matron.  Just  think  of  treatin'  her 
that  way!  Well,  where've  you  been  all  the  fore 
noon  ?" 

The  question  was  addressed  to  her  brother,  who  en 
tered  the  house  by  the  side  door  at  that  moment.  Kenelm 
seemed  a  trifle  confused. 

"I — I  been  lookin'  for  that  umbrella,  Hannah,"  he 
explained.  "I  knew  I  must  have  left  it  somewheres 
'cause — 'cause,  you  see  I — I  took  it  out  with  me  last 
night  and — and " 

"And  come  home  without  it.  It  wouldn't  take  a  King 
Solomon  to  know  that.  Did  you  find  it?" 

Kenelm's  embarrassment  appeared  to  increase. 

"Well,"  he  stammered,  "I  ain't  exactly  found  it — 
but " 

"But  what?" 

"I— I'm  cal'latin'  to  find  it,  Hannah." 

"Yes,  I  know.  You're  cal'latin'  to  get  to  Heaven  some 
time  or  other,  I  s'pose,  but  if  the  path  is  as  narrow  and 
crooked  as  they  say  'tis  I  should  be  scared  if  I  was  you. 
You'll  find  a  way  to  lose  it,  if  there  is  one.  Oh,  dear 

62 


me!"  with  a  sudden  change  to  a  tone  almost  pleading. 
"Be  you  goin'  to  smoke  again?" 

Kenelm's  reply  was  strange  for  him.  He  scratched 
a  match  and  lit  his  pipe  with  calm  deliberation. 

"I'm  cal'latin'  to,"  he  said,  cheerfully.  And  his  sister, 
to  the  surprise  of  Mrs.  Barnes  and  Emily,  did  not  utter 
another  word  of  protest. 

Captain  Obed  volunteered  to  accompany  them  to  the 
hotel  and  to  the  store  of  Mr.  Badger.  On  the  way 
Thankful  mentioned  Mr.  Parker's  amazing  independence 
in  the  matter  of  the  pipe. 

The  captain  chuckled.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "Kenelm  smokes 
when  he  wants  to,  and  sometimes  when  he  don't,  I  guess, 
just  to  keep  his  self-respect.  Smokin'  is  one  p'int  where 
he  beat  out  Hannah.  It's  quite  a  yarn,  the  way  he  done 
it  is.  Some  time  I'll  tell  it  to  you,  maybe." 

The  hotel — it  was  kept  by  Darius  Holt,  father  of  Win 
nie  S. — was  no  more  inviting  than  Miss  Parker's  and 
Captain  Bangs'  hints  had  led  them  to  expect.  But  Thank 
ful  insisted  on  engaging  a  room  for  the  night  and  on 
returning  there  for  dinner,  supper  and  breakfast  the  fol 
lowing  day. 

"After  that,  we'll  see,"  she  said.  "Now  let's  go  and 
make  a  call  on  that  rent  collector  of  mine." 

Mr.  Badger  was  surprised  to  meet  the  owner  of  the 
Barnes  house,  surprised  and  a  bit  taken  aback,  so  it 
seemed  to  Mrs.  Barnes  and  her  cousin.  He  was  very  po 
lite,  almost  obsequiously  so,  and  his  explanations  con 
cerning  the  repairs  which  he  had  found  it  necessary  to 
make  and  the  painting  which  he  had  had  done  were 
lengthy  if  not  convincing. 

As  they  left  him,  smiling  and  bowing  in  the  doorway 
of  his  store,  Thankful  shook  her  head.  When  they  were 
out  of  earshot  she  said: 

63 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Hum!  The  paint  he  says  he  put  on  that  precious 
property  of  mine  don't  show  as  much  as  you'd  expect, 
but  he  used  enough  butter  and  whitewash  this  morning 
to  make  up.  He's  a  slick  party,  that  Mr.  Badger  is,  or 
I  miss  my  guess.  His  business  arithmetic  don't  go  much 
further  than  addition.  Everything  in  creation  added  to 
one  makes  one  and  he's  the  one.  Mr.  Chris  Badger's  got 
jobs  enough,  accordin'  to  his  sign.  He  won't  starve  if  he 
don't  collect  rents  for  me  any  more." 

The  hotel  dinner  was  neither  bountiful  nor  particularly 
well  cooked.  The  Holts  joined  them  at  table  and  Winnie 
S.  talked  a  good  deal.  He  expressed  much  joy  at  the 
recovery  of  his  lantern. 

"But  when  I  see  you  folks  in  that  house  last  night," 
he  said,  "I  thought  to  myself,  'Judas  priest!'  thinks  I. 
'Them  women  has  got  more  spunk  than  I've  got.'  Gettin' 
into  a  house  like  that  all  alone  in  the  dark — Whew! 
Judas  priest !  /  wouldn't  do  it !" 

"Why  not?"  asked  Emily. 

"Oh,  just  'cause  I  wouldn't,  I  suppose.  Now  I  don't 
believe  in  such  things,  of  course,  but  old  Laban  he  did 
die  there.  /  never  heard  nothin',  but  they  tell  me " 

"Rubbish !"  broke  in  Mr.  Holt,  Senior.  "  'Tain't  noth 
in'  but  fool  yarns,  the  whole  of  it.  Take  an  old  house,  a 
hundred  year  old  same  as  that  is,  and  shut  her  up  and 
'tain't  long  afore  folks  do  get  to  pretendin'  they  hear 
things.  /  never  heard  nothin'.  Have  some  more  pie, 
Miss  Howes?  Huh!  There  ain't  no  more,  is  there!'' 

After  dinner  Emily  retired  to  her  room  for  a  nap. 
She  did  so  under  protest,  declaring  that  she  was  not  tired, 
but  Thankful  insisted. 

"If  you  ain't  tired  now  you  will  be  when  the  excite 
ment's  over,"  she  said.  "My  conscience  is  plaguin'  me 
enough  about  fetchin'  you  on  this  cruise,  as  it  is.  Just 

64 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

take  it  as  easy  as  you  can,  Emily.  Lie  down  and  rest, 
and  please  me." 

So  Emily  obeyed  orders  and  Mrs.  Barnes,  after  draw 
ing  the  curtains  and  asking  over  and  over  again  if  her 
cousin  was  sure  she  was  comfortable,  went  out.  It  was 
late  in  the  afternoon  when  she  returned. 

"I've  been  talkin'  until  my  face  aches,"  she  declared. 
"And  my  mind  is  about  made  up  to  do — to  do  what  may 
turn  out  to  be  the  craziest  thing  I  ever  did  do.  I'll  tell 
you  the  whole  thing  after  supper,  Emily.  Let's  let  my 
tongue  have  a  vacation  till  then." 

And,  after  supper,  which,  by  the  way,  was  no  better 
than  the  dinner,  she  fulfilled  her  promise.  They  retired 
to  the  bedroom  and  Thankful,  having  carefully  closed 
the  windows  and  door  and  hung  a  towel  over  the  keyhole, 
told  of  her  half-formed  plan. 

"Emily,"  she  began,  "I  presume  likely  you'll  feel  that 
you'd  ought  to  go  back  home  tomorrow?  Yes,  I  knew 
you'd  feel  that  way.  Well,  I  ain't  goin'  with  you.  I've 
made  up  my  mind  to  stay  here  for  a  few  days  longer. 
Now  I'll  tell  you  why. 

"You  see,  Emily,"  she  went  on,  "my  comin'  down  here 
to  East  Wellmouth  wa'n't  altogether  for  the  fun  of 
lookin'  at  the  heirloom  Uncle  Abner  left  me.  The  first 
thing  I  wanted  to  do  was  see  it,  but  when  I  had  seen  it, 
and  if  it  turned  out  to  be  what  I  hoped  it  might  be,  there 
was  somethin'  else.  Emily,  Mrs.  Pearson's  dyin'  leaves 
me  without  a  job.  Oh,  of  course  I  know  I  could  'most 
likely  get  another  chance  at  nursin'  or  keepin'  house  for 
somebody,  but,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I'm  gettin'  kind  of 
tired  of  that  sort  of  thing.  Other  folks'  houses  are  like 
other  folks'  ailments ;  they  don't  interest  you  as  much  as 
your  own  do.  I'm  sick  of  askin'  somebody  else  what 
they  want  for  dinner ;  I'd  like  to  get  my  own  dinner,  or, 

65 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

at  least,  if  somebody  else  is  to  eat  with  me,  I  want  to 
decide  myself  what  they'll  have  to  eat.  I  want  to  run 
my  own  house  once  more  afore  I  die.  And  it  seems — 
yes,  it  seems  to  me  as  if  here  was  the  chance ;  nothin'  but 
a  chance,  and  a  risky  one,  but  a  chance  just  the  same. 
Emily,  I'm  thinkin'  of  fixin'  up  Uncle  Abner's  old  rattle 
trap  and  openin'  a  boardin'-house  for  summer  folks  in  it. 

"Yes,  yes;  I  know,"  she  continued,  noticing  the  ex 
pression  on  her  companion's  face.  "There's  as  much 
objection  to  the  plan  as  there  is  slack  managin'  in  this 
hotel,  and  that's  some  consider'ble.  Fust  off,  it'll  cost 
money.  Well ;  I've  saved  a  little  money  and  those  cran 
berry  bog  shares  Mrs.  Pearson  left  me  will  sell  for  two 
thousand  at  least.  That  would  be  enough,  maybe,  if  I 
wanted  to  risk  it  all,  but  I  don't.  I've  got  another  scheme. 
This  property  of  mine  down  here  is  free  and  clear,  but, 
on  account  of  its  location  and  the  view,  Cap'n  Bangs 
tells  me  it's  worth  consider'ble  more  than  I  thought  it 
was.  I  believe — yes,  I  do  believe  I  could  put  a  mortgage 
on  it  for  enough  to  pay  for  the  fixin'  over,  maybe  more." 

Emily  interrupted. 

"But,  Auntie,"  she  said,  "a  mortgage  is  a  debt,  isn't  it  ? 
A  debt  that  must  be  paid.  And  if  you  borrow  from  a 
stranger " 

"Just  a  minute,  Emily.  Course  a  mortgage  is  a  debt, 
but  it's  a  debt  on  the  house  and  land  and,  if  worse  comes 
to  worst,  the  house  and  land  can  go  to  pay  for  it.  And 
I  don't  mean  to  borrow  from  a  stranger,  if  I  can  help  it. 
I've  got  a  relation  down  here  on  the  Cape,  although  he's 
a  pretty  fur-off,  round-the-corner  relation,  third  cousin, 
or  somethin'  like  that.  His  name's  Solomon  Cobb  and  he 
lives  over  to  Trumet,  about  nine  mile  from  here,  so  Cap'n 
Bangs  says.  And  he  and  Uncle  Abner  used  to  sail  to 
gether  for  years.  He  was  mate  aboard  the  schooner 

66 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

when  Uncle  Abner  died  on  a  v'yage  from  Charleston 
home.  This  Cobb  man  is  a  tight-fisted  old  bachelor, 
they  say,  but  his  milk  of  human  kindness  may  not 
be  all  skimmed.  And,  anyhow,  he  does  take  mort 
gages  ;  that's  the  heft  of  his  business — I  got  that  from 
the  cap'n  without  tellin'  him  what  I  wanted  to  know 
for." 

Miss  Howes  smiled. 

"You  and  Captain  Bangs  have  been  putting  your  heads 
together,  I  see,"  she  said. 

t-  "Um — hm.  And  his  head  ain't  all  mush  and  seeds 
like  a  pumpkin,  if  I'm  any  judge.  The  cap'n  tells  me 
that  East  Wellmouth  needs  a  good  summer  boardin'- 
house.  This — this  contraption  we're  in  now  is  the  nighest 
thing  there  is  to  it,  and  that's  as  far  off  as  dirt  is  from 
soap ;  you  can  see  that  yourself.  'Cordin'  to  Cap'n  Bangs, 
lots  and  lots  of  city  people  would  come  here  summers 
if  there  was  a  respectable,  decent  place  to  go  to.  Now, 
Emily,  why  can't  I  give  'em  such  a  place  ?  Seems  to  me 
I  can.  Anyhow,  if  I  can  mortgage  the  place  to  Cousin 
Sol  Cobb  I  think — yes,  I'm  pretty  sure  I  shall  try.  Now 
what  do  you  think?  Is  your  Aunt  Thankful  Barnes 
losin'  her  sense — always  providin'  she's  ever  had  any  to 
lose — or  is  she  gettin'  to  be  a  real  business  woman  at 
last?" 

Emily's  reply  was  at  first  rather  doubtful.  She  raised 
one  objection  after  the  other,  but  Mrs.  Barnes  was  always 
ready  with  an  answer.  It  was  plain  that  she  had  looked 
at  her  plan  from  every  angle.  And,  at  last,  Miss  Howes, 
too,  became  almost  enthusiastic. 

"I  do  believe,"  she  said,  "it  may  turn  out  to  be  a  splen 
did  thing  for  you,  Auntie.  At  least,  I'm  sure  you  will 
succeed  if  anyone  can.  Oh  dear!"  wistfully.  "I  only 
wish  it  were  possible  for  me  to  stay  here  and  help  with 

67 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

it  all.  But  I  can't — I  can't.  Mother  and  the  children 
need  the  money  and  I  must  go  back  to  my  school." 

Thankful  nodded.  "Yes,"  she  admitted,  "I  suppose 
likely  you  must,  for  the  present.  But — but  if  it  should 
be  a  go  and  I  should  see  plainer  sailin'  ahead,  then  I'd 
need  somebody  to  help  manage,  somebody  younger  and 
more  up-to-date  than  I  am.  And  I  know  mighty  well 
who  I  shall  send  for." 

They  talked  for  a  long  time,  but  at  last,  after  they 
were  in  bed  and  the  lamp  was  extinguished,  Emily  said : 

"I  hate  to  go  back  and  leave  you  here,  Auntie ;  indeed 
I  do.  I  shall  be  so  interested  and  excited  I  shall  scarcely 
be  able  to  wait  for  your  letters.  You  will  write  just  as 
soon  as  you  have  seen  this  Mr.  Cobb,  won't  you?" 

"Yes,  sartin  sure  I  will.  I  know  it's  goin'  to  be  hard 
for  you  to  go  and  leave  me,  Emily,  but  I  shan't  be  havin' 
a  Sunday-school  picnic,  exactly,  myself.  From  what  I 
used  to  hear  about  Cousin  Solomon,  unless  he's  changed 
a  whole  lot  since,  gettin'  a  dollar  from  him  won't  be  as 
easy  as  pullin'  a  spoon  out  of  a  kittle  of  soft-soap.  I'll 
have  to  do  some  persuadin',  I  guess.  Wish  my  tongue 
was  as  soothin'-syrupy  as  that  Mr.  Badger's  is.  But  I'm 
goin'  to  do  my  best.  And  if  talkin'  won't  do  it  I'll — I 
swear  I  don't  know  as  I  shan't  give  him  ether.  Maybe 
he'd  take  that  if  he  could  get  it  for  nothin'.  Good  night." 


CHAPTER  V 

WELL,"  said  Thankful,  with  a  sigh,  "she's 
gone,  anyhow.  I  feel  almost  as  if  I'd  cut 
my  anchor  rope  and  was  driftin'  out  of  sight 
of  land.  It's  queer,  ain't  it,  how  you  can  make  up  your 
mind  to  do  a  thing,  and  then,  when  you've  really  started 
to  do  it,  almost  wish  you  hadn't.  Last  night — yes,  and 
this  mornin' — I  was  as  set  on  carryin'  through  this  plan 
of  mine  as  a  body  could  be,  but  just  now,  when  I  saw 
Emily  get  aboard  those  cars,  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep 
from  goin'  along  with  her." 

Captain  Obed  nodded.  "Sartin,"  he  agreed.  "That's 
natural  enough.  When  I  was  a  youngster  I  was  forever 
teasin'  to  go  to  sea.  I  thought  my  dad  was  meaner  than 
a  spiled  herrin'  to  keep  on  sayin'  no  when  I  said  yes. 
But  when  he  did  say  yes  and  I  climbed  aboard  the  stage 
coach  to  start  for  Boston,  where  my  ship  was,  I  never 
was  more  homesick  in  my  life.  I  was  later  on,  though — 
homesick  and  other  kinds." 

They  were  standing  on  the  station  platform  at  Well- 
mouth  Centre,  and  the  train  which  was  taking  Emily  back 
to  South  Middleboro  was  a  rapidly  moving,  smoking  blur 
in  the  distance.  The  captain,  who  seemed  to  have  taken 
a  decided  fancy  to  his  prospective  neighbor  and  her 
young  relative,  had  come  with  them  to  the  station. 
Thankful  had  hired  a  horse  and  "open  wagon"  at  the 
livery  stable  in  East  Wellmouth  and  had  intended  engag- 

69 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

ing  a  driver  as  well,  but  Captain  Bangs  had  volunteered 
to  act  in  that  capacity. 

"I  haven't  got  much  to  do  this  mornin',"  he  said.  "Fact 
is,  I  generally  do  have  more  time  on  my  hands  than  any 
thing  else  this  season  of  the  year.  Later  on,  when  I  put 
out  my  fish  weirs,  I'm  pretty  busy,  but  now  I'm  a  sort  of 
"longshore  loafer.  You're  figurin'  to  go  to  Trumet  after 
you've  seen  Miss  Emily  leave  the  dock,  you  said,  didn't 
you?  Well,  I've  got  an  errand  of  my  own  in  Trumet 
that  might  as  well  be  done  now  as  any  time.  I'll  drive 
you  over  and  back  if  you're  willin'  to  trust  the  vessel  in 
my  hands.  I  don't  set  up  to  be  head  of  the  Pilots'  Asso 
ciation  when  it  comes  to  steerin'  a  horse,  but  I  cal'late  I 
can  handle  any  four-legged  craft  you're  liable  to  charter 
in  East  Wellmouth." 

His  offer  was  accepted  and  so  far  he  had  proved  a 
competent  and  able  helmsman.  Now,  Miss  Howes 
having  been  started  on  her  homeward  way,  the  next  port 
of  call  was  to  be  the  office  of  Mr.  Solomon  Cobb  at 
Trumet. 

During  the  first  part  of  the  drive  Thankful  was  silent 
and  answered  only  when  spoken  to.  The  parting  with 
Emily  and  the  sense  of  heavy  responsibility  entailed  by 
the  project  she  had  in  mind  made  her  rather  solemn  and 
downcast.  Captain  Obed,  noticing  this,  and  suspecting 
the  cause,  chatted  and  laughed,  and  after  a  time  his 
passenger  seemed  to  forget  her  troubles  and  to  enjoy  the 
trip. 

They  jogged  up  the  main  street  of  Trumet  until  they 
reached  the  little  three-cornered  "square"  which  is  the 
business  center  of  the  village.  Next  beyond  the  barber 
shop,  which  is  two  doors  beyond  the  general  store  and 
postoffke,  was  a  little  one-story  building,  weather-beaten 
and  badly  in  need  of  paint.  The  captain  steered  his 

70 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"craft"  up  to  the  sidewalk  before  this  building  and 
pulled  up. 

"Whoa!"  he  ordered,  addressing  the  horse.  Then, 
turning  to  Thankful,  he  said  : 

"Here  you  are,  ma'am.    This  is  Sol  Cobb's  place." 

Mrs.  Barnes  looked  at  the  little  building.  Its  exterior 
certainly  was  not  inviting.  The  windows  looked  as  if 
they  had  not  been  washed  for  weeks,  the  window  shades 
were  yellow  and  crooked,  and  one  of  the  panes  of  glass 
in  the  front  door  was  cracked  across.  Thankful  had 
not  seen  her  "Cousin  Solomon"  for  years,  not  since  she 
was  a  young  woman,  but  she  had  heard  stories  of  his 
numerous  investments  and  business  prosperity,  and 
she  could  scarcely  believe  this  dingy  establishment  was 
his. 

"Are  you  sure,  Cap'n  Bang^?"  she  faltered.  "This 
can't  be  the  Solomon  Cobb  I  mean.  He's  well  off  and  it 
don't  seem  as  if  he  would  be  in  an  office  like  this — if  'tis 
an  office,"  she  added.  "It  looks  more  like  a  henhouse 
to  me.  And  there's  no  signs  anywhere." 

The  captain  laughed.  "Signs  cost  money,"  he  said. 
"It  takes  paint  to  make  a  sign,  same  as  it  does  to  keep 
a  henhouse  lookin'  respectable.  This  is  the  only  Sol 
Cobb  in  Trumet,  fur's  I  ever  heard,  and  he's  well  off, 
sartin.  He  ought  to  be ;  I  never  heard  of  him  lettin'  go 
of  anything  he  got  hold  of.  Maybe  you  think  I'm  talkin' 
pretty  free  about  your  relation,  Mrs.  Barnes,"  he  added, 
apologetically.  "I  hadn't  ought  to,  I  suppose,  but  I've 
had  one  or  two  little  dealin's  with  Sol,  one  time  or 
'nother,  and  I — well,  maybe  I'm  prejudiced.  Excuse  me, 
won't  you  ?  He  may  be  altogether  different  with  his  own 
folks." 

Thankful  was  still  staring  at  the  dubious  and  forbid 
ding  front  door. 

71 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"It  doesn't  seem  as  if  it  could  be,"  she  said.  "But  if 
you  say  so  of  course  'tis." 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  guess  'tis.  That's  Sol  Cobb's  henhouse 
and  the  old  rooster  is  in,  judgin'  by  the  signs.  Those 
are  his  rubbers  on  the  step.  Wearin'  rubbers  winter  or 
summer  is  a  habit  of  his.  Humph !  I'm  talkin'  too  much 
again.  You're  goin'  in,  I  suppose,  ma'am?" 

Thankful  threw  aside  the  carriage  robe  and  prepared 
to  clamber  from  the  wagon. 

"I  surely  am,"  she  declared.  "That's  what  I  came  way 
over  here  for." 

The  captain  sprang  to  the  ground  and  helped  her  to 
alight. 

"I'll  be  right  across  the  road  at  the  store  there,"  he 
said.  "I'll  be  on  the  watch  when  you  come  out.  I — 
I " 

He  hesitated.  Evidently  there  was  something  else  he 
wished  to  say,  but  he  found  the  saying  difficult.  Thank 
ful  noticed  the  hesitation. 

"Yes,  what  was  it,  Cap'n  Bangs  ?"  she  asked. 

Captain  Obed  fidgeted  with  the  reins. 

"Why,  nothin',  I  guess,"  he  faltered.  "Only— only — 
well,  I  tell  you,  Mrs.  Barnes,  if — if  you  was  figgerin' 
on  doin'  any  business  with  Mr.  Cobb,  any  money  busi 
ness,  I  mean,  and — and  you'd  rather  go  anywheres  else 
I — I — well,  I'm  pretty  well  acquainted  round  here  on 
the  Cape  amongst  the  bank  folks  and  such  and  I'd  be 
real  glad  to " 

Thankful  interrupted.  She  had,  after  much  misgiving 
and  reluctance,  made  up  her  mind  to  approach  her  distant 
relative  with  the  mortgage  proposition,  but  to  discuss 
that  proposition  with  strangers  was,  to  her  mind,  very 
different.  She  had  mentioned  the  proposed  mortgage  to 
Emily,  but  she  had  told  no  one  else,  not  even  the  captain 

72 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

himself.  And  she  did  not  mean  to  tell.  The  boarding 
house  plan  must  stand  or  fall  according  to  Mr.  Cobb's 
reception  of  it. 

"No,  no,"  she  said,  hastily.  "It  ain't  anything  im 
portant — that  is,  very  important." 

"Well,  all  right.  You  see — I  only  meant — excuse  me, 
Mrs.  Barnes.  I  hope  you  don't  think  I  meant  to  be  nosey 
or  interferin'  in  your  affairs." 

"Of  course  I  don't.  You've  gone  to  a  lot  of  trouble 
on  my  account  as  'tis,  and  you've  been  real  kind." 

The  captain  hurriedly  muttered  that  he  hadn't  been 
kind  at  all  and  watched  her  as  she  walked  up  the  short 
path  to  Mr.  Cobb's  front  door.  Then,  with  a  solemn 
shake  of  the  head,  he  clinched  again  at  the  wagon  seat 
and  drove  across  the  road  to  the  hitching-posts  before  the 
store.  Thankful  opened  the  door  of  the  "henhouse"  and 
entered. 

The  interior  of  the  little  building  was  no  more  inviting 
than  its  outside.  One  room,  dark,  with  a  bare  floor,  and 
with  cracked  plastered  walls  upon  which  a  few  calendars 
and  an  ancient  map  were  hanging.  There  was  a  worn 
wooden  settee  and  two  wooden  armchairs  at  the  front, 
near  the  stove,  and  at  the  rear  an  old-fashioned  walnut 
desk. 

At  this  desk  in  a  shabby,  leather-cushioned  armchair, 
sat  a  little  old  man  with  scant  gray  hair  and  a  fringe  of 
gray  throat  whiskers.  He  wore  steel-rimmed  spectacles 
and  over  these  he  peered  at  his  visitor. 

"Good  mornin',"  said  Thankful.  It  seemed  to  her  high 
time  that  someone  said  something,  and  the  little  man  had 
not  opened  his  lips.  He  did  not  open  them  even  now. 

"Urn,"  he  grunted,  and  that  was  all. 

"Are  you  Mr.  Solomon  Cobb?"  she  asked.  She  knew 
now  that  he  was;  he  had  changed  a  great  deal  since 

73 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

she  had  last  seen  him,  but  his  eyes  had  not  changed,  and 
he  still  had  the  habit  she  remembered,  that  of  pulling  at 
his  whiskers  in  little,  short  tugs  as  if  trying  to  pull  them 
out.  "Like  a  man  hauling  wild  carrots  out  of  a  turnip 
patch,"  she  wrote  Emily  when  describing  the  interview. 

He  did  not  answer  the  question.  Instead,  after  another 
long  look,  he  said : 

"If  you're  sellin'  books,  I  don't  want  none.  Don't  use 
'em." 

This  was  so  entirely  unexpected  that  Mrs.  Barnes  was, 
for  the  moment,  confused  and  taken  aback. 

"Books!"  she  repeated,  wonderingly.  "I  didn't  say 
anything  about  books.  I  asked  you  if  you  was  Mr. 
Cobb." 

Another  look.  "If  you're  sellin'  or  peddlin'  or  agentin' 
or  anything  I  don't  want  none,"  said  the  little  man.  "I'm 
tellin'  you  now  so's  you  can  save  your  breath  and  mine. 
I've  got  all  I  want." 

Thankful  looked  at  him  and  his  surroundings.  This 
ungracious  and  unlocked  for  reception  began  to  have  its 
effect  upon  her  temper ;  as  she  wrote  Emily  in  the  letter, 
her  "back  fin  began  to  rise."  It  was  on  the  tip  of  her 
tongue  to  say  that,  judging  by  appearances,  he  should 
want  a  good  many  things,  politeness  among  others.  But 
she  did  not  say  it. 

"I  ain't  a  peddler  or  a  book  agent,"  she  declared, 
crisply.  "When  I  ask  you  to  buy,  seems  to  me  'twould 
be  time  enough  to  say  no.  If  you're  Solomon  Cobb,  and 
I  know  you  are,  I've  come  to  see  you  on  business." 

The  word  "business"  had  an  effect.  Mr.  Cobb  swung 
about  in  his  chair  and  regarded  her  fixedly.  There  was 
a  slight  change  in  his  tone. 

"Business,  hey?"  he  repeated.  "Well,  I'm  a  business 
man,  ma'am.  What  sort  of  business  is  it  you've  got?" 

74 


Thankful  did  not  answer  the  question  immediately. 
Instead  she  walked  nearer  to  the  desk. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  slowly,  "you're  Solomon  Cobb.  I 
should  know  you  anywhere  now.  And  I  ain't  seen  you 
for  twenty  year.  I  presume  likely  you  don't  know  me." 

The  man  of  business  stared  harder  than  ever.  He 
took  off  his  spectacles,  rubbed  them  with  his  handker 
chief,  put  them  on  and  stared  again. 

"No,  ma'am,  I  don't,"  he  said.  "You  don't  live  in 
Trumet,  I  know  that.  You  ain't  seen  me  for  twenty 
year,  eh  ?  Twenty  year  is  quite  a  spell.  And  yet  there's 
somethin'  sort  of — sort  of  familiar  about  you,  now  that 
I  look  closer.  Who  be  you?" 

"My  name  is  Thankful  Barnes — now.  It  didn't  used 
to  be.  When  you  knew  me  'twas  Thankful  Cahoon.  My 
grandmother,  on  my  father's  side,  was  your  mother's 
own  cousin.  Her  name  was  Matilda  Myrick.  That 
makes  you  and  me  sort  of  distant  relations,  Mr.  Cobb." 

If  she  expected  this  statement  to  have  the  effect  of 
making  the  little  man  more  cordial  she  was  disappointed. 
In  fact,  if  it  had  any  effect  at  all,  it  was  the  opposite, 
judging  by  his  manner  and  expression.  His  only  com 
ments  on  the  disclosure  of  kinship  were  a  "Humph!" 
and  a  brief  "Want  to  know!"  He  stared  at  Thankful 
and  she  at  him.  Then  he  said: 

"Well?" 

Mrs.  Barnes  was  astonished. 

"Well?"  she  repeated.  "What's  well?  What  do  you 
mean  by  that?" 

"Nothin's  I  know  of.  You  said  you  came  to  see  me 
about  some  business  or  other.  What  sort  of  business?" 

"I  came  to  see  you  about  gettin'  some  money.  I  need 
some  money  just  now  and " 

Solomon  interrupted  her. 

75 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Humph !"  he  grunted.     "I  cal'lated  as  much." 

"You  cal'lated  it!     For  the  land  sakes — why?" 

"Because  you  begun  by  sayin'  you  was  a  relation  of 
mine.  I've  got  a  good  many  relations  floatin'  around 
loose  and  there  ain't  nary  one  of  'em  ever  come  to  see 
me  unless  'twas  to  get  money.  If  I  give  money  to  all 
my  relations  that  asked  for  it  I'd  be  a  dum  sight  poorer'n 
I  be  now." 

Thankful  was  by  this  time  thoroughly  angry. 

"Look  here,"  she  snapped.  "If  I'd  come  to  you  ex- 
pectin'  you  to  give  me  any  money  I'd  be  an  idiot  as  well 
as  a  relation.  Far's  that  last  part  goes  I  ain't  any  prouder 
of  it  than  you  are." 

This  pointed  remark  had  no  more  effect  than  the  state 
ment  of  relationship.  Mr.  Cobb  was  quite  unruffled. 

"You  came  to  see  me,"  he  said,  "and  you  ain't  come 
afore  for  twenty  year — you  said  so.  Now,  when  you  do 
come,  you  want  money,  you  said  that,  too." 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 

"Nothin*  of  it,  'special.  Only  when  a  party  comes  to 
me  and  commences  by  sayin'  he  or  she's  a  relation  I 
know  what's  comin'  next.  Relations!  Humph!  My 
relations  never  done  much  for  me." 

ThankfuFs  fingers  twitched.  "  'Cordin'  to  all  accounts 
you  never  done  much  for  them,  either,"  she  declared. 
"You  don't  even  ask  'em  to  sit  down.  Well,  you  needn't 
worry  so  far's  I'm  concerned.  Good-by." 

She  was  on  her  way  out  of  the  office,  but  he  called  her 
back. 

"Hi,  hold  on !"  he  called.  "You  ain't  told  me  what  that 
business  was  yet.  Come  back !  You — you  can  set  down, 
if  you  want  to." 

Thankful  hesitated.  She  was  strongly  tempted  to  go 
and  never  return.  And  yet,  if  she  did,  she  must  go  else- 

76 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

where  to  obtain  the  mortgage  she  wished.  And  to  whom 
should  she  go  ?  Reluctantly  she  retraced  her  steps. 

"Set  down,"  said  Mr.  Cobb,  pulling  forward  a  chair. 
"Now  what  is  it  you  want?" 

Mrs.  Barnes  sat  down.  "I'll  tell  you  what  I  don't 
want,"  she  said  with  emphasis.  "I  don't  want  you  to 
give  me  any  money  or  to  lend  me  any,  either — without 
it's  bein'  a  plain  business  deal.  I  ain't  askin'  charity  of 
you  or  anybody  else,  Solomon  Cobb.  And  you'd  better 
understand  that  if  you  and  I  are  goin'  to  talk  any 
more." 

Mr.  Cobb  tugged  at  his  whiskers. 

"You've  got  a  temper,  ain't  you,"  he  declared.  "Tem 
per's  a  good  thing  to  play  with,  maybe,  if  you  can  afford 
it.  I  ain't  rich  enough,  myself.  I've  saved  a  good  many 
dollars  by  keepin'  mine.  If  you  don't  want  me  to  give 
you  nor  lend  you  money,  what  do  you  want?" 

"I  want  you  to  take  a  mortgage  on  some  property  I 
own.  You  do  take  mortgages,  don't  you?" 

More  whisker  pulling.     Solomon  nodded. 

"I  do  sometimes,"  he  admitted ;  "when  I  cal'late  they're 
safe  to  take.  Where  is  this  property  of  yours?" 

"Over  in  East  Wellmouth.  It's  the  old  Abner  Barnes 
place.  Cap'n  Abner  willed  it  to  me.  He  was  my  uncle." 

And  at  last  Mr.  Cobb  showed  marked  interest.  Slowly 
he  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  His  spectacles  fell  from  his 
nose  into  his  lap  and  lay  there  unheeded. 

"What?  What's  that  you  say?"  he  asked,  sharply. 
"Abner  Barnes  was  your  uncle?  I — I  thought  you  said 
your  name  was  Cahoon." 

"I  said  it  used  to  be  afore  I  was  married,  when  I 
knew  you.  Afterwards  I  married  Eben  Barnes,  Cap'n 
Abner's  nephew.  That  made  the  captain  my  uncle  by 
marriage." 

77 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

t  Solomon's  fingers  groped  for  his  spectacles.  He  picked 
them  up  and  took  his  handkerchief  from  his  pocket.  But 
it  was  his  forehead  he  rubbed  with  his  handkerchief,  not 
the  glasses. 

"You're — you're  Abner  Barnes'  niece !"  he  said  slowly. 

"Yes — niece  by  marriage." 

"The  one  he  used  to  talk  so  much  about?  What  was 
her  name — Patience — Temp'rance " 

"Thankful — that's  my  name.  I  presume  likely  Uncle 
Abner  did  use  to  talk  about  me.  He  always  declared 
he  thought  as  much  of  me  as  if  I  was  his  own  child." 

There  was  an  interval  of  silence.  Mr.  Cobb  replaced 
his  spectacles  and  stared  through  them  at  his  visitor. 
His  manner  was  peculiar — markedly  so. 

"I  went  mate  for  Cap'n  Abner  a  good  many  v'yages," 
he  said,  after  a  moment. 

"Yes,  I  know  you  did." 

"He — he  told  you  so,  I  suppose." 

"Yes." 

"What  else  did  he  tell  you ;  about — about  me,  I  mean  ?" 

"Why,  nothin'  'special  that  I  know  of.  Why?  What 
was  there  to  tell?" 

"Nothin'.  Nothin'  much,  I  guess.  Abner  and  me 
was  sort  of — sort  of  chums  and  I  didn't  know  but  he 
might  have  said — might  have  told  you  considerable  about 
me.  He  didn't,  hey?" 

-  "No.    He  told  me  you  was  his  mate,  that's  all." 

•  It  may  have  been  Thankful's  imagination,  but  it  did 
seem  as  if  her  relative  was  a  trifle  relieved.    But  even 
yet  he  did  not  seem  quite  satisfied.     He  pulled  at  his 
whiskers  and  asked  another  question. 

"What  made  you  come  here  to  me?"  he  asked. 
"Mercy  on  us !   I've  told  you  that,  haven't  I  ?  I  came 
to  see  about  gettin'  a  mortgage  on  his  old  place  over  to 

78 


East  Wellmouth.  I  knew  you  took  mortgages — at  least 
folks  said  you  did — and  bein'  as  you  was  a  relation  I 
thought " 

A  wave  of  the  hand  interrupted  her. 

"Yes,  yes,"  broke  in  Solomon,  hastily.  "I  know  that. 
Was  that  the  only  reason  ?" 

"I  presume  likely  'twas.  I  did  think  it  was  a  natural 
one  and  reason  enough,  but  I  guess  that  was  a  mistake. 
It  looks  as  if  'twas." 

She  made  a  move  to  rise,  but  he  leaned  forward  and 
detained  her. 

"There !  there !"  he  said.  "Set  still,  set  still.  So  you're 
Abner  Barnes'  niece?" 

"My  soul!    I've  told  you  so  three  times." 

"Abner's  niece !    I  want  to  know !" 

"Well,  I  should  think  you  might  know  by  this  time. 
Now  about  that  mortgage." 

"Hey?  Oh,  yes — yes!  You  want  a  mortgage  on 
Abner's  place  over  to  East  Wellmouth.  Um!  Well,  I 
know  the  property  and  about  what  it's  wuth — which 
ain't  much.  What  are  you  cal'latin'  to  do — live  there?" 

"Yes,  if  I  can  carry  out  the  plan  I've  got  in  my  head. 
I'm  thinkin'  of  fixin'  up  that  old  place  and  livin'  in  it. 
I'm  figgerin'  to  run  it  as  a  boardin'-house.  It'll  cost 
money  to  put  it  in  shape  and  a  mortgage  is  the  simplest 
way  of  raisin'  that  money,  I  suppose.  That's  the  long 
and  short  of  it." 

The  dealer  in  mortgages  appeared  to  hear  and  there 
was  no  reason  why  he  should  not  have  understood.  But 
he  seemed  still  unsatisfied,  even  suspicious.  The  whis 
kers  received  another  series  of  pulls  and  he  regarded 
Thankful  with  the  same  questioning  stare. 

"And  you  say,"  he  drawled,  "that  you  come  to  me  just 

because " 

79 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Mercy  on  us !  If  you  don't  know  why  I  come  by  this 
time,  then " 

"All  right,  all  right.  I — I'm  talkin'  to  myself,  I  guess. 
Course  you  told  me  why  you  come.  So  you're  cal'latin' 
to  start  a  boardin'-house,  eh?  Risky  things,  boardin'- 
houses  are.  There's  a  couple  of  hundred  launched  every 
year  and  not  more'n  ten  ever  make  a  payin'  v'yage.  Let's 
hear  what  your  plan  is,  the  whole  of  it." 

Fighting  down  her  impatience  Thankful  went  into  de 
tails  concerning  her  plan.  She  explained  why  she  had 
thought  of  it  and  her  growing  belief  that  it  might  be 
successful.  Mr.  Cobb  listened. 

"Humph!"  he  grunted,  when  she  had  finished.  "So 
Obed  Bangs  advised  you  to  try  it,  hey  ?  That  don't  make 
me  think  no  better  of  it,  as  I  know  of.  I  know  Bangs 
pretty  well." 

"Yes,"  dryly;  "I  supposed  likely  you  did.  Anyhow, 
he  said  he  knew  you." 

"He  did,  hey  ?    Told  you  some  things  about  me,  hey  ?" 

"No,  he  didn't  tell  me  anything  except  that  you  and 
he  had  had  some  dealin's.  Now,  Mr.  Cobb,  we've  talked 
a  whole  lot  and  it  don't  seem  to  me  we  got  anywheres. 
If  you  don't  want  to  take  a  mortgage  on  that  place " 

"Sshh !  Who  said  I  didn't  want  to  take  it?  How  do  I 
know  what  I  want  to  do  yet  ?  Lord !  How  you  women 
do  go  on !  Suppose  I  should  take  a  mortgage  on  that 
place — mind,  I  don't  say  I  will,  but  suppose  I  should — 
how  would  I  know  that  the  mortgage  would  be  paid,  or 
the  interest,  or  anything?" 

"If  it  ain't  paid  you  can  foreclose  when  the  time  comes, 
I  presume  likely.  As  for  the  interest — well,  I'm  fairly 
honest,  or  I  try  to  be,  and  that'll  be  paid  reg'lar  if  I  live." 

"Ya'as.  Well,  fur's  honesty  goes,  I  could  run  a  seine 
through  Ostable  County  any  day  in  the  week  and  load  a 

80 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

schooner  with  honest  folks ;  and  there  wouldn't  nary  one 
of  'em  have  cash  enough  to  pay  for  the  wear  and  tear 
on  the  net.  Honesty's  good  policy,  maybe,  but  it  takes 
hard  money  to  pay  bills." 

Thankful  stood  up. 

"All  right,"  she  said,  decidedly,  "then  I'll  go  where 
they  play  the  honest  game.  And  you  needn't  set  there 
and  weed  your  face  any  more  on  my  account." 

Mr.  Cobb  rose  also.  "There!  there!"  he  protested. 
"Don't  get  het  up.  I  don't  say  I  won't  take  your  mort 
gage,  do  I?" 

"You've  said  a  good  deal.  If  you  say  any  more  of  the 
same  kind  you  can  say  it  to  yourself.  I  tell  you,  honest, 
I  don't  like  the  way  you  say  it." 

The  owner  of  the  "henhouse"  looked  as  if  he  wished 
very  much  to  retort  in  kind.  The  glare  he  gave  his  visitor 
prophesied  direful  things.  But  he  did  not  retort;  nor, 
to  her  surprise,  did  he  raise  his  voice  or  order  her  off 
the  premises.  Instead  his  tone,  when  he  spoke  again,  was 
quiet,  even  conciliatory. 

"I — I'm  sorry  if  I've  said  anything  I  shouldn't,"  he 
stammered.  "I'm  gettin'  old  and — and  sort  of  short  in 
my  talk,  maybe.  I — I — there's  a  good  many  folks  round 
here  that  don't  like  me,  'count  of  my  doin'  business  in  a 
business  way,  'stead  of  doin'  it  like  the  average  poor 
fool.  I  suppose  they've  been  talkin'  to  you  and 
you've  got  sort  of  prejudiced.  Well,  I  don't  know's  I 
blame  you  for  that.  I  shan't  hold  no  grudge.  How 
much  of  a  mortgage  do  you  cal'late  to  want  on  Abner's 
place?" 

"Two  thousand  dollars." 

"Two  thousand!  .  .  .  There,  there!  Hold  on, 
hold  on !  Two  thousand  dollars  is  a  whole  lot  of  mon  :y. 
It  don't  grow  on  every  bush." 

81 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"I  know  that  as  well  as  you  do.  If  I  did  I'd  have 
picked  it  afore  this." 

"Um — hm.    How  long  a  time  do  you  want?" 

"I  don't  know.    Three  years,  perhaps." 

Solomon  shook  his  head. 

"Too  long,"  he  said.  "I  couldn't  give  as  long  a  mort 
gage  as  that  to  anybody.  No,  I  couldn't  do  it.  ... 
Tell  you  what  I  will  do,"  he  added.  "I — I  don't  want  to 
act  mean  to  a  relation.  I  think  as  much  of  relations 
as  anybody  does.  I'd  like  to  favor  you  and  I  will  if  I 
can.  You  give  me  a  week  to  think  this  over  in  and  then 
I'll  let  you  know  what  I'll  do.  That's  fair,  ain't  it  ?" 

Mrs.  Barnes  declined  the  offer. 

"It  may  be  fair  to  you,"  she  said,  "but  I  can't  wait  so 
long.  I  want  to  settle  this  afore  I  go  back  to  South 
Middleboro.  And  I  shall  go  back  tomorrow,  or  the  day 
after  at  the  latest." 

Another  session  of  "weeding."  Then  said  Mr.  Cobb: 
"Well,  all  right,  all  right.  I'll  think  it  over  and  then 
I'll  drive  across  to  East  Wellmouth,  have  another  look  at 
the  property,  and  let  you  know.  I'll  see  you  day  after 
tomorrow  forenoon.  Where  you  stoppin'  over  there?" 

Thankful  told  him.  He  walked  as  far  as  the  door 
with  her. 

"Hope  you  ain't  put  out  with  me,  ma'am,"  he  said. 
"I  have  to  be  kind  of  sharp  and  straight  up  and  down 
in  my  dealin's;  they'd  get  the  weather  gauge  on  me  a 
dozen  times  a  day  if  I  wa'n't.  But  I'm  real  kind  inside — 
to  them  I  take  a  notion  to.  I'll — I'll  treat  you  right — 
er — er — Cousin  Thankful;  you  see  if  I  don't.  I'm  real 
glad  you  come  to  me.  Good  day." 

Thankful  went  down  the  path.  As  she  reached  the 
sidewalk  she  turned  and  looked  back.  The  gentleman 
with  the  kind  interior  was  standing  peering  at  her  through 

82 


the  cracked  glass  of  the  door.  He  was  still  tugging  at 
his  whiskers  and  if,  as  he  had  intimated,  he  had  "taken  a 
notion"  to  her,  his  expression  concealed  the  fact  wonder 
fully. 

Captain  Obed,  who  had  evidently  been  on  the  lookout 
for  his  passenger,  appeared  on  the  platform  of  the  store 
on  the  other  side  of  the  road.  After  asking  if  she  had 
any  other  "port  of  call"  in  that  neighborhood,  he  assisted 
her  into  the  carriage  and  they  started  on  their  homeward 
trip.  The  captain  must  have  filled  with  curiosity  con 
cerning  the  widow's  interview  with  Mr.  Cobb,  but  beyond 
asking  if  she  had  seen  the  latter,  he  did  not  question. 
Thankful  appreciated  his  reticence ;  the  average  dweller 
in  Wellmouth — Winnie  S.,  for  instance — would  have 
started  in  on  a  vigorous  cross-examination.  Her  convic 
tion  that  Captain  Bangs  was  much  above  the  average  was 
strengthened. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "he  was  there.  I  saw  him.  He's  a — 
a  kind  of  queer  person,  I  should  say.  Do  you  know  him 
real  well,  Cap'n  Bangs?" 

The  captain  nodded.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "I  know  him 
about  as  well  as  anybody  outside  of  Trumet  does.  I  ain't 
sure  that  anybody  really  knows  him  all  the  way  through. 
Queer!"  he  chuckled.  "Well,  yes — you  might  say  Sol 
Cobb  was  queer  and  you  wouldn't  be  strainin'  the  truth 
enough  to  start  a  plank.  He's  all  that  and  then  consid- 
er'ble." 

"What  sort  of  a  man  is  he?" 

"Sol?  Hum!  Well,  he's  smart;  anybody  that  beats 
Sol  Cobb  in  a  trade  has  got  to  get  up  a  long  ways  ahead 
of  breakfast  time.  Might  stay  up  all  night  and  then  not 
have  more  leeway  than  he'd  be  liable  to  need." 

"Yes.  Yes,  I'm  sure  he's  smart  in  business.  But  is 
he — is  he  a  good  man  ?" 

83 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

The  captain  hesitated  before  replying. 

"Git  dap!"  he  ordered,  addressing  the  horse.  "Good? 
Is  Sol  good  ?  Well,  I  cal'late  that  depends  some  on  what 
dictionary  you  hunt  up  the  word  in.  He's  pious,  sartin. 
There  ain't  many  that  report  on  deck  at  the  meetin'-house 
more  reg'lar  than  he  does.  He  don't  cal'late  to  miss  a 
prayer-meetin'  and  when  there's  a  revival  goin'  on  he's 
right  up  front  with  the  mourners.  Folks  do  say  that  his 
favorite  hymn  is  Tm  Glad  Salvation's  Free'  and  they 
heave  out  consider'ble  many  hints  that  if  'twa'n't  free  he 
wouldn't  have  got  it;  but  then,  that's  an  old  joke  and 
I've  heard  'em  say  the  same  thing  about  other  people/' 

"But  do  you  think  he's  honest?" 

"I  never  heard  of  his  doin'  anything  against  the  law. 
He'll  skin  honesty  as  close  as  he  can,  there  ain't  much 
hide  left  when  he  gets  through ;  but  I  cal'late  he  thinks 
he's  honest.  And  maybe  he  is — maybe  he  is.  It  all  de 
pends  on  the  definition,  same  as  I  said.  Sol's  pious  all 
right.  I  cal'late  he'd  sue  anybody  that  had  a  doubt  as 
to  how  many  days  Josiah  went  cabin  passenger  aboard 
the  whale.  His  notion  of  Heaven  may  be  a  little  mite 
hazy,  although  he'd  probably  lay  consider'ble  stress  on 
the  golden  streets,  but  he's  sot  and  definite  about  t'other 
place.  Yes,  siree!"  he  added,  reflectively,  "Sol  is  sartin 
there's  a  mighty  uncomf 'table  Tophet,  and  that  folks  who 
don't  believe  just  as  he  does  are  bound  there.  And  he 
don't  mean  to  go  himself,  if  'tendin'  up  to  meetin'  '11  keep 
him  clear. 

"It's  kind  of  queer  to  me,"  he  went  on,  slowly,  "to  see 
the  number  of  folks  that  make  up  their  minds  to  be  good 
— or  what  they  call  good — because  they're  scared  to  be 
bad.  Doin'  right  because  right  is  right,  and  lettin'  the 
Almighty  credit  'em  with  that,  because  He's  generally 
supposed  to  know  it's  right  full  well  as  they  do — that 

84 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

ain't  enough  for  their  kind.  They  have  to  keep  hollerin' 
out  loud  how  good  they  are  so  He'll  hear  and  won't  make 
any  mistake  in  bookin'  their  own  particular  passage. 
Sort  of  takin'  out  a  religious  insurance  policy,  you 
might  say  'twas.  .  .  .  Humph !"  he  added,  coming  out 
of  his  reverie  and  looking  doubtfully  at  his  companion, 
"I — I  hope  I  ain't  shocked  you,  ma'am.  I  don't  mean 
to  be  irreverent,  you  understand.  I've  thought  con- 
sider'ble  about  such  things  and  I  have  funny  ideas 
maybe." 

Thankful  declared  that  she  was  not  shocked.  She  had 
heard  but  little  of  her  driver's  long  dissertation.  She  was 
thinking  of  her  interview  with  Mr.  Cobb  and  the  prob 
ability  of  his  accepting  her  proposal  and  taking  a  mort 
gage  on  her  East  Wellmouth  property.  If  he  refused, 
what  should  she  do  then?  And  if  he  accepted  arid  she 
went  on  to  carry  her  plan  into  execution,  what  would 
be  the  outcome?  The  responsibility  was  heavy.  She 
would  be  risking  all  she  had  in  the  world.  If  she  suc 
ceeded,  well  and  good.  If  she  failed  she  would  be  obliged 
to  begin  all  over  again,  to  try  for  another  position  as 
housekeeper,  perhaps  to  "go  out  nursing"  once  more. 
She  was  growing  older ;  soon  she  would  be  beyond  mid 
dle  life  and  entering  upon  the  first  stages  of  old  age. 
And  what  a  lonely  old  age  hers  was  likely  to  be!  Her 
husband  was  dead ;  her  only  near  relative,  brother  Jede- 
diah,  was — well,  he  might  be  dead  also,  poor  helpless, 
dreamy  incompetent.  He  might  have  died  in  the  Klon 
dike,  providing  he  ever  reached  that  far-off  country, 
which  was  unlikely.  He  would  have  been  but  an  addi 
tional  burden  upon  her  had  he  lived  and  remained  at 
home,  but  he  would  have  been  company  for  her  at  least. 
Emily  was  a  comfort,  but  she  had  little  hope  of  Emily's 
being  able  to  leave  her  school  or  the  family  which  her 

85 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

salary  as  teacher  helped  to  support.    No,  she  must  carry 
her  project  through  alone,  all  alone. 

She  spoke  but  seldom  and  Captain  Obed,  noticing  the 
change  in  her  manner  and  possibly  suspecting  the  cause, 
did  his  best  to  divert  her  thoughts  and  cheer  her.  He 
chatted  continuously,  like,  as  he  declared  afterwards,  "a 
poll  parrot  with  its  bill  greased."  He  changed  the  topic 
from  Mr.  Cobb  and  his  piety  to  the  prospects  of  good 
fishing  in  the  spring,  from  that  to  the  failure  of  the  pre 
vious  fall's  cranberry  crop,  and  from  that  again  to 
Kenelm  Parker  and  his  sister  Hannah.  And,  after  a 
time,  Thankful  realized  that  he  was  telling  a  story. 


CHAPTER   VI 

TAKIN'  other  folks'  advice  about  your  own  af 
fairs,"  began  Cap'n  Obed,  "is  like  a  feller 
readin'  patent  medicine  circulars  to  find  some- 
thin'  to  cure  a  cold.  Afore  he  gets  through  his  symp 
toms  have  developed  into  bronchitis  and  pneumony,  with 
gallopin'  consumption  dead  ahead.  You  never  can  tell 
what'll  happen. 

"You  noticed  how  Hannah  Parker  sort  of  riz  up  when 
Kenelm  started  smokin'  yesterday?  Yes,  I  know  you 
did,  'cause  you  spoke  of  it.  And  you  notice,  too,  how 
meek  and  lowly  she  laid  down  and  give  in  when  he  kept 
right  on  doin'  it.  That  ain't  her  usual  way  with  Kenelm 
by  a  consider'ble  sight.  I  told  you  there  was  quite  a 
yarn  hitched  to  that  smokin'  business.  So  there  is. 

"Kenelm's  an  old  bach,  you  know.  One  time  he  used 
to  work,  or  pretend  to,  because  he  needed  the  money; 
but  his  Aunt  Phoebe  up  to  Brockton  died  and  left  him 
four  or  five  thousand  dollars  and  he  ain't  worked  of  any 
account  since.  He's  a  gentleman  now,  livin'  on  his  in 
come — and  his  sister. 

"Hannah  ain't  got  but  precious  little  money  of  her 
own,  but  she  knows  how  to  take  care  of  it,  which  her 
brother  don't.  She  was  housekeepin'  for  some  folks  at 
Wapatomac,  but  when  the  inheritances  landed  she  headed 
straight  for  East  Wellmouth,  rented  that  little  house 
they're  in  now,  and  took  charge  of  Kenelm.  He  wa'n't 

87 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

overanxious  to  have  her  do  it,  but  that  didn't  make  any 
difference.  One  of  her  pet  bugaboos  was  that,  now  her 
brother  was  well-off — 'cordin'  to  her  idea  of  well-offness 
— some  designin'  woman  or  other  would  marry  him  for 
his  money.  Down  she  come,  first  train,  and  she's  been 
all  hands  and  the  cook,  yes,  and  paymaster — with  Ken- 
elm  a  sort  of  steerage  passenger,  ever  since.  She  keeps 
watch  over  him  same  as  the  sewin'  circle  does  over  the 
minister's  wife,  and  it's  'No  Anchorage  for  Females' 
around  that  house,  I  can  tell  you. 

"Another  of  her  special  despisin's — next  to  old  maids 
and  young  widows — used  to  be  tobacco  smoke.  We  had 
a  revival  preacher  in  East  Wellmouth  that  first  winter 
and  he  stirred  up  things  like  a  stick  in  a  mudhole.  He 
was  young  and  kind  of  good-lookin',  with  a  voice  like  the 
Skakit  foghorn,  and  he  took  the  sins  of  the  world  in  his 
mouth,  one  after  the  other,  as  you  might  say,  and  shook 
'em  same's  a  pup  would  a  Sunday  bunnit.  He  laid  into 
rum  and  rum  sellin',  and  folks  fairly  got  in  line  to  sign 
the  pledge.  'Twas  'Come  early  and  avoid  the  rush.'  Got 
so  that  Chris  Badger  hardly  dast  to  use  alcohol  in  his 
cigar-lighter. 

"Then,  havin'  dried  us  up,  that  revival  feller  begun  to 
smoke  us  out.  He  preached  six  sermons  on  the  evils  of 
tobacco,  and  every  one  was  hotter'n  the  last.  Accordin' 
to  him,  if  you  smoked  now  you'd  burn  later  on.  Lots 
of  the  men  folks  threw  their  pipes  away,  and  took  to 
chewin'  slipp'ry  ellum. 

"Now,  Kenelm  smoked  like  a  peat  fire.  He  lit  up  after 
breakfast  and  puffed  steadily  until  bedtime,  only  puttin' 
his  pipe  down  to  eat,  or  to  rummage  in  his  pocket  for 
more  tobacco.  Hannah  got  him  to  go  to  one  of  the  anti- 
tobacco  meetin's.  He  set  through  the  whole  of  it,  inter 
ested  as  could  be.  Then,  when  'twas  over,  he  stopped 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

in  the  church  entry  to  load  up  his  pipe,  and  walked  home 
with  his  sister,  blowin'  rings  and  scratchin'  matches  and 
talkin'  loud  about  how  fine  the  sermon  was.  He  talked 
all  next  day  about  that  sermon ;  said  he'd  go  every  night 
if  they'd  let  you  smoke  in  there. 

"So  Hannah  was  set  back  a  couple  of  rows,  but  she 
wa'n't  discouraged — not  by  a  forty  fathom.  She  got  after 
her  brother  mornin',  noon  and  night  about  the  smokin' 
habit.  The  most  provokin'  part  of  it,  so  she  said,  was 
that  he  always  agreed  with  her. 

"  'It's  ruinin'  your  health,'  she'd  say. 

"  'Yes,'  says  Kenelm,  lookin'  solemn,  'I  cal'late  that's 
so.  I've  been  feelin'  poorly  for  over  a  year  now.  Wor 
ries  me  consider'ble.  Pass  me  that  plug  on  the  top  of 
the  clock,  won't  you,  Hannah?' 

"Now  what  can  you  do  with  a  feller  like  that? 

"She  couldn't  start  him  with  fussin'  about  his  health, 
so  she  swung  over  on  a  new  tack  and  tried  her  own.  She 
said  so  much  smoke  in  the  house  was  drivin'  her  into  con 
sumption,  and  she  worked  up  a  cough  that  was  a  reg'lar 
graveyard  quickstep.  I  heard  her  practicin'  it  once,  and, 
I  swan,  there  was  harps  and  halos  all  through  it ! 

"That  cough  made  Kenelm  set  up  and  take  notice ;  and 
no  wonder.  He  listened  to  a  hundred  or  so  of  Hannah's 
earthquakes,  and  then  he  got  up  and  pranced  out  of  the 
house.  When  he  came  back  the  doctor  was  with  him. 

"Now,  this  wa'n't  exactly  what  his  sister  was  lookin' 
for.  She  didn't  want  to  see  the  doctor.  But  Kenelm 
said  she'd  got  to  have  her  lungs  sounded  right  off,  and 
he  guessed  they'd  have  to  use  a  deep-sea  lead,  'cause  that 
cough  seemed  to  come  from  the  foundations.  He  way 
laid  the  doctor  after  the  examination  was  over  and  asked 
all  kinds  of  questions.  The  doctor  tried  to  keep  a  straight 
face,  but  I  guess  Kenelm  smelt  a  rat. 

89 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Anyway,  Hannah  coughed  for  a  day  or  two  more, 
and  then  her  brother  come  totin'  in  a  big  bottle  of  med'- 
cine. 

"  There !'  he  says.    'That'll  fix  you !' 

"  ' Where'd  you  get  it  ?'  says  she. 

"  'Down  to  Henry  Tubman's/  he  says. 

"  'Henry  Tubman !  What  on  earth !  Why,  Henry  Tub 
man's  a  horse  doctor!' 

"  'I  know  he  is/  says  Kenelm,  solemn  as  a  roostin'  pul 
let,  'but  we've  been  fishin'  with  the  wrong  bait.  'Tain't 
consumption  that's  ailin'  you,  Hannah;  you've  got  the 
heaves.' 

"So  Hannah  didn't  cough  much  more,  'cause,  when  she 
did,  Kenelm  would  trot  out  the  bottle  of  horse  med'cine, 
and  chuck  overboard  a  couple  of  barrels  of  sarcasm.  She 
tried  openin'  all  the  windows,  sayin'  she  needed  fresh  air, 
but  he  locked  himself  up  in  the  kitchen  and  filled  that  so 
full  of  smoke  that  you  had  to  navigate  it  by  dead  reckonin' 
— couldn't  see  to  steer.  So  she  was  about  ready  to  give 
up;  somethin'  that  anybody  but  a  stubborn  critter  like 
her  would  have  done  long  afore. 

"But  one  afternoon  she  was  down  to  the  sewin'  circle, 
and  the  women  folks  there,  havin'  finished  pickin'  to 
pieces  the  characters  of  the  members  not  on  hand,  started 
in  to  go  on  about  the  revivals  and  how  much  good  they 
was  doin'.  'Most  everybody  had  some  relation,  if  'twa'n't 
nothin'  more'n  a  husband,  that  had  stopped  smokin'  and 
chewin'.  Everybody  had  some  brand  from  the  burnin' 
to  brag  about — everybody  but  Hannah;  she  could  only 
set  there  and  say  she'd  done  her  best,  but  that  Kenelm 
still  herded  with  the  goats. 

"They  was  all  sorry  for  her,  but  the  only  one  that  had 
any  advice  to  give  was  Abbie  Larkin,  she  that  was  Abbie 
Dillin'ham  'fore  she  married  old  man  Larkin.  Larkin 

90 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

had  one  foot  in  the  grave  when  she  married  him,  and  she 
managed  to  crowd  the  other  one  in  inside  of  a  couple  of 
years  afterward.  Abbie  is  a  widow,  of  course,  and  she 
is  middlin'  good-lookin'  and  dresses  pretty  gay.  Larkin 
left  her  a  little  money,  but  I  guess  she's  run  through  most 
of  it  by  this  time.  The  circle  folks  was  dyin'  to  talk  about 
her,  but  she  was  always  on  hand  so  early  that  they 
hardly  ever  got  a  chance. 

"Well,  after  supper  was  over,  Abbie  gets  Hannah  over 
in  a  corner,  and  says  she : 

:'  'Miss  Parker/  says  she,  'here's  an  advertisement  I 
cut  out  of  the  paper  and  saved  a-purpose  for  you.  I 
want  you  to  look  at  it,  but  you  mustn't  tell  anybody  I  gave 
it  to  you.' 

"So  Hannah  unfurls  the  piece  of  newspaper,  and  'twas 
an  advertisement  of  'Kill-Smudge,'  the  sure  cure  for  the 
tobacco  habit.  You  could  give  it  to  the  suff'rer  unbe 
knownst  to  him,  in  his  tea  or  soup  or  somethin',  and  in  a 
couple  of  shakes  he'd  no  more  smoke  than  he'd  lend 
money  to  his  brother-in-law,  or  do  any  other  ridic'lous 
thing.  There  was  testimonials  from  half  a  dozen  women 
that  had  tried  it,  and  everyone  showed  a  clean  bill. 

"Hannah  read  the  advertisement  through  twice.  'Well, 
I  never!'  says  she. 

'  'Yes,'  says  Abbie,  and  smiles. 

''  'Of  course,'  says  Hannah,  lookin'  scornful,  7 
wouldn't  think  of  tryin'  the  stuff,  but  I'll  just  take  this 
home  and  read  it  over.  It's  so  curious,'  she  says. 

"  'Ain't  it?'  says  Abbie,  and  smiles  some  more. 

"So  that  night,  when  Kenelm  sat  by  the  stove,  turnin' 
the  air  blue,  his  sister  set  at  the  other  side  of  the  table 
with  that  advertisement  hid  behind  the  Wellmouth  Advo 
cate  readin'  and  thinkin'.  She  wrote  a  letter  afore  she 
went  to  bed  and  bought  a  dollar's  worth  of  stamps  at 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

the  postoffice  next  day.  And  for  a  week  she  watched  the 
mails  the  way  one  of  these  city  girls  does  when  the 
summer's  'most  over  and  eight  or  nine  of  her  fellers  have 
finished  their  vacations  and  gone  back  to  work. 

"About  ten  days  after  that  Kenelm  begins  to  feel  kind 
of  off  his  feed,  so's  to  speak.  Somethin'  seemed  to  ail 
him  and  he  couldn't  make  out  what  'twas.  They'd  had 
a  good  many  cranberries  on  their  bog  that  year  and 
Hannah'd  been  cookin'  'em  up  fast  so's  they  wouldn't 
spile.  But  one  night  she  brings  on  a  cranberry  pie,  and 
Kenelm  turned  up  his  nose  at  it. 

"  'More  of  that  everlastin'  sour  stuff !'  he  snorts.  'I've 
et  cranb'ries  till  my  stomach's  puckered  up  as  if  it  worked 
with  a  gath'rin'  string.  Take  it  away!  /  don't  want  it!' 

"  'But,  Kenelm,  you're  always  so  fond  of  cranb'ry  pie.' 

"'Me?  It  makes  me  shrivel  just  to  look  at  it.  Pass 
that  sugar  bowl,  so's  I  can  sweeten  ship.' 

"Next  day  'twas  salt  fish  and  potatoes  that  wa'n't  good. 
He'd  been  teasin'  for  a  salt-fish  dinner  for  ever  so  long, 
so  Hannah'd  fixed  up  this  one  just  to  please  him,  but  he 
swallered  two  or  three  knifefuls  and  then  looked  at  her 
kind  of  sad  and  mournful. 

"  'To  think/  says  he,  'that  I've  lived  all  these  years  to 
be  p'isoned  fin'lly!  And  by  my  own  sister,  too!  Well, 
that's  what  comes  of  bein'  wuth  money.  Give  me  my  pipe 
and  let  me  forget  my  troubles.' 

"  'Course  this  kind  of  talk  made  Hannah  mad,  but  she 
argued  that  'twas  the  Kill-Smudge  gettin'  in  its  work,  so 
she  put  a  double  dose  into  his  teacup  that  night,  and 
trusted  in  Providence. 

"And  the  next  day  she  noticed  that  he  swallered  hard 
between  every  pull  at  his  pipe,  and  when,  at  last,  he 
jumped  out  of  his  chair,  let  out  a  swear  word  and  hove 
his  pipe  at  the  cat,  she  felt  consider'ble  encouraged.  She 

92 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

thought  'twas  her  duty,  however,  to  warn  him  against 
profane  language,  but  the  answer  she  got  was  so  much 
more  prayerful  than  his  first  remarks,  that  she  come 
about  and  headed  for  the  sittin'-room  quick. 

"Well,  to  make  a  long  yarn  short,  the  Kill-Smudge  done 
the  bus'ness.  Kenelm  stuck  to  smokin'  till  he  couldn't 
read  a  cigar  sign  without  his  ballast  shiftin',  and  then  he 
give  it  up.  And — as  you  might  expect  from  that  kind  of 
a  man — he  was  more  down  on  tobacco  than  the  Come- 
Outer  parson  himself.  He  even  got  up  in  revival  meetin' 
and  laid  into  it  hammer  and  tongs.  He  was  the  best  'hor 
rible  example'  they  had,  and  Hannah  was  so  proud  of 
him  that  she  couldn't  sleep  nights.  She  still  stuck  to  the 
Kill-Smudge,  though — layin'  in  a  fresh  stock  every  once 
in  a  while — and  she  dosed  the  tea  about  every  other  day, 
so's  her  brother  wouldn't  run  no  danger  of  relapse.  I'm 
'fraid  Kenelm  didn't  get  any  too  much  joy  out  of  his 
meals. 

"And  so  everything  was  all  right — 'cordin'  to  Hannah's 
reckonin' — and  it  might  have  stayed  all  right  if  she  hadn't 
took  that  trip  to  Washington.  Etta  Ellis  was  goin'  on  a 
three  weeks'  cut-rate  excursion,  and  she  talked  so  much 
about  it,  that  Hannah  got  reckless  and  fin'lly  said  she'd 
go,  too. 

"The  only  thing  that  worried  her  was  leavin'  Kenelm. 
She  hated  to  do  it  dreadful,  but  he  seemed  tame  enough 
and  promised  to  change  his  flannels  if  it  got  cold,  and  to 
feed  the  cat  reg'lar,  and  to  stay  to  home,  and  one  thing 
and  another,  so  she  thought  'twas  safe  to  chance  it.  She 
cooked  up  a  lot  of  pie  and  frosted  cake,  and  wrote  out  a 
kind  of  time-table  for  him  to  eat  and  sleep  by,  and  then 
cried  and  kissed  him  good-by. 

"The  first  three  days  after  she  was  gone  Kenelm  stayed 
'round  the  house  and  turned  in  early.  He  was  feelin'  fine, 

93 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

but  'twas  awful  lonesome.  The  fourth  day,  after  break 
fast,  he  had  a  cravin'  to  smoke.  Told  me  afterward  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  he  must  smoke  or  die  of  the  fidgets. 
At  last  he  couldn't  stand  it  no  longer,  but  turned  Han 
nah's  time-table  to  the  wall  and  went  out  for  a  walk.  He 
walked  and  walked  and  walked.  It  got  'most  dinner  time 
and  he  had  an  appetite  that  he  hadn't  had  afore  for 
months. 

"Just  as  he  was  turnin'  into  the  road  by  the  school- 
house  who  should  come  out  on  the  piazza,  of  the  house 
on  the  corner  but  Abbie  Larkin.  She'd  left  the  door 
open,  and  the  smell  of  dinner  that  blew  through  it  was 
tantalizin'.  Abbie  was  dressed  in  her  Sunday  togs  and 
her  hair  was  frizzed  till  she  couldn't  wrinkle  her  fore 
head.  If  the  truth  was  known,  I  cal'late  she'd  seen  Ken- 
elm  go  past  her  house  on  the  way  downtown  and  was 
layin'  for  him  when  he  come  back,  but  she  acted  dreadful 
surprised. 

"'Why,  Mr.  Parker!'  says  she.  'How  do  you  do? 
Seems's  if  I  hadn't  seen  you  for  an  age !  Ain't  it  dreadful 
lonesome  at  your  house  now  your  sister's  away?' 

"Kenelm  colored  up  some — he  always  h'isted  danger 
signals  when  women  heave  in  sight — and  agreed  that 
'twas  kind  of  poky  bein'  all  alone.  Then  they  talked 
about  the  weather,  and  about  the  price  of  coal,  and  about 
the  new  plush  coat  Cap'n  Jabez  Bailey's  wife  had  just 
got,  and  how  folks  didn't  see  how  she  could  afford  it 
with  Jabez  out  of  work,  and  so  on.  And  all  the  time  the 
smell  of  things  cookin'  drifted  through  the  doorway. 
Fin'lly  Abbie  says,  says  she : 

"  'Was  you  goin'  home,  Mr.  Parker  ?' 

"  'Yes,  ma'am,'  says  Kenelm.  'I  was  caPlatin'  to  go 
home  and  cook  somethin'  for  dinner.' 

"  'Well,  there,  now !'  says  Abbie.  'I  wonder  why  I 

94 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

didn't  think  of  it  afore!  Why  don't  you  come  right  in 
and  have  dinner  with  me?  It's  all  ready  and  there's 
plenty  for  two.  Do  come,  Mr.  Parker,  to  please  me!' 

"  'Course  Kenelm  said  he  couldn't,  and,  likewise,  of 
course,  he  did.  'Twas  a  smashin'  dinner — chicken  and 
mashed  potatoes  and  mince  pie,  and  the  land  knows  what. 
He  ate  till  he  was  full  clear  to  the  hatches,  and  it  seemed 
to  him  that  nothin'  ever  tasted  quite  so  good.  The  widow 
smiled  and  purred  and  colored  up  and  said  it  seemed  so 
good  to  have  a  man  at  the  table ;  seemed  like  the  old  days 
when  Dan'l — meanin'  the  late  lamented — was  on  deck, 
and  so  forth. 

"Then,  when  the  eatin'  was  over,  she  says,  'I  was  ex- 
pectin'  my  cousin  Benjamin  down  for  a  week  or  so,  but 
he  can't  come.  He's  a  great  smoker,  and  I  bought  these 
cigars  for  him.  You  might  as  well  use  them  afore  they 
dry  up.' 

"Afore  Kenelm  could  stop  her  she  rummaged  a  hand 
ful  of  cigars  out  of  the  table  drawer  in  the  settin'-room. 

'  'There !'  she  says.  'Light  right  up  and  be  comfort 
able.  It'll  seem  just  like  old  times.  Dan'l  was  such  a 
smoker!  Oh,  my!'  and  she  gave  a  little  squeal;  'I  forgot 
you've  stopped  smokinV 

"Well,  there  was  the  cigars,  lookin'  as  temptin'  as  a 
squid  to  a  codfish;  and  there  was  Kenelm  hankerin'  for 
'em  so  his  fingers  twitched ;  and  there  was  Abbie  lookin' 
dreadful  disapp'inted,  but  tryin'  to  make  believe  she 
wasn't.  You  don't  need  a  spyglass  to  see  what  happened. 

"  'I'd  like  to,'  says  Kenelm,  pickin'  up  one  of  the  cigars. 
Td  like  to  mighty  well,  but' — here  he  bites  off  the  end — 
'  'twouldn't  hardly  do,  now  would  it  ?  You  see ' 

"  'I  see,'  says  Abbie,  scratchin'  a  match ;  'but  we'll  never 
tell.  We'll  have  it  for  our  secret;  won't  we,  Mr. 
Parker?' 

95 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"So  that's  how  Kenelm  took  his  first  tumble  from 
grace.  He  told  me  all  about  it  one  day  a  good  while 
afterward.  He  smoked  three  of  the  cigars  afore  he  went 
home,  and  promised  to  come  to  supper  the  next  after 
noon. 

"  'You  do  look  so  comfortable,  Mr.  Parker/  purrs 
Abbie,  as  sweet  and  syrupy  as  a  molasses  stopper.  'It 
must  be  such  a  comfort  to  a  man  to  smoke.  I  don't  care 
what  the  minister  says,  you  can  smoke  here  just  as  much 
as  you  want  to !  It  must  be  pretty  hard  to  live  in  a  house 
where  you  can't  enjoy  yourself.  I  shouldn't  think  it 
would  seem  like  home.  A  man  like  you  needs  a  good 
home.  Why,  how  I  do  run  on!' 

"Oh,  there  ain't  really  nothin'  the  matter  with  the 
Widow  Larkin — so  fur's  smartness  is  concerned,  there 
ain't. 

"And  for  five  days  more  Kenelm  ate  his  meals  at 
Abbie's  and  smoked  and  was  happy,  happier'n  he'd  been 
for  months. 

"Meantime,  Hannah  and  Etta  was  visitin'  the  President 
— that  is  to  say,  they  was  lookin'  over  the  White  House 
fence  and  sayin'  'My  stars!'  and  'Ain't  it  elegant!' 
Nights,  when  the  sightseein'  was  over,  what  they  did 
mostly  was  to  gloat  over  how  mean  and  jealous  they'd 
make  the  untraveled  common  tribe  at  sewin'  circle  feel 
when  they  got  back  home.  They  could  just  see  them 
selves  workin'  on  the  log-cabin  quilt  for  the  next  sale, 
and  slingin'  out  little  reminders  like,  'Land  sakes !  What 
we're  talkin'  about  reminds  me  of  what  Etta  and  me  saw 
when  we  was  in  the  Congressional  Libr'ry.  You  remem 
ber  that,  Etta?'  And  that  would  be  Etta's  hint  to  look 
cute  and  giggle  and  say,  'Well!  I  should  say  I  did!'  And 
all  the  rest  of  the  circlers  would  smile  kind  of  unhealthy 
smiles  and  try  to  look  as  if  trips  to  Washington  wa'n't 

96 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

nothin' ;  they  wouldn't  go  if  you  hired  'em  to.  You  know 
the  game  if  you've  ever  been  to  sewin'  circle. 

"But  all  this  plannin'  was  knocked  in  the  head  by  a 
letter  that  Hannah  got  on  an  afternoon  about  a  week 
after  she  left  home.  It  was  short  but  there  was  meat  in 
it.  It  said :  'If  you  want  to  keep  your  brother  from 
marryin'  Abbie  Larkin  you  had  better  come  home  quick !' 
'Twas  signed  'A  Friend.' 

"Did  Hannah  come  home?  Well,  didn't  she!  She 
landed  at  Orham  the  next  night.  And  she  done  some 
thinkin'  on  the  way,  too.  She  kept  out  of  the  way  of 
everybody  and  went  straight  up  to  the  house.  'Twas 
dark  and  shut  up,  but  the  back  door  key  was  under  the 
mat,  as  usual,  so  she  got  in  all  right.  The  plants  hadn't 
been  watered  for  two  days,  at  least ;  the  clock  had 
stopped ;  the  cat's  saucer  was  licked  dry  as  a  contribu 
tion  box,  and  the  critter  itself  was  underfoot  every  sec 
ond,  whoopin'  for  somethin'  to  eat.  The  whole  thing 
pretty  nigh  broke  Hannah's  heart,  but  she  wa'n't  the  kind 
to  give  up  while  there  was  a  shot  in  the  locker. 

"She  went  to  the  closet  and  found  that  Kenelm's  Sun 
day  hat  and  coat  was  gone.  Then  she  locked  the  back 
door  again  and  cut  acrost  the  lots  down  to  Abbie's.  She 
crept  round  the  back  way  and  peeked  under  the  curtain 
at  the  settin'-room  window.  There  set  Abbie,  lookin' 
sweet  and  sugary.  Likewise,  there  was  Kenelm,  lookin' 
mighty  comfortable,  with  a  big  cigar  in  his  mouth  and 
more  on  the  table  side  of  him.  Hannah  gritted  her  teeth, 
but  she  kept  quiet. 

"About  ten  minutes  after  that  Chris  Badger  was  con- 
sider'ble  surprised  to  hear  a  knock  at  the  back  door  of 
his  store  and  to  find  that  'twas  Hannah  that  had  knocked. 

"  'Mr.  Badger,'  says  Hannah,  polite  and  smilin',  'I  want 
to  buy  a  box  of  the  best  cigars  you've  got.' 

97 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"  'Ma'am !'  says  Chris,  thinkin'  'twas  about  time  to 
send  for  the  constable  or  the  doctor — one  or  t'other. 

"  'Yes/  says  Hannah ;  'if  you  please.  Oh !  and,  Mr. 
Badger,  please  don't  tell  anyone  I  bought  'em.  Please 
don't,  to  oblige  me.' 

"So  Chris  trotted  out  the  cigars — ten  cents  straight, 
they  was — and  said  nothin'  to  nobody,  which  is  a  faculty 
he  has  when  it  pays  to  have  it. 

"When  Kenelm  came  home  that  night  he  was  knocked 
pretty  nigh  off  his  pins  to  find  his  sister  waitin'  for  him. 
He  commenced  a  long  rigmarole  about  where  he'd  been, 
but  Hannah  didn't  ask  no  questions.  She  said  that  Wash 
ington  was  mighty  fine,  but  home  and  Kenelm  was  good 
enough  for  her.  Said  the  thoughts  of  him  alone  had 
been  with  her  every  minute,  and  she  just  had  to  cut  the 
trip  short.  Kenelm  wa'n't  any  too  enthusiastic  to  hear  it. 

"Breakfast  next  mornin'  was  a  dream.  Hannah  had 
been  up  since  five  o'clock  gettin'  it  ready.  There  was 
everything  on  that  table  that  Kenelm  liked  'special.  And 
it  all  tasted  fine,  and  he  ate  enough  for  four.  When 
'twas  over  Hannah  went  to  the  closet  and  brought  out  a 
bundle. 

"  'Kenelm,'  she  says,  'here's  somethin'  I  brought  you 
that'll  surprise  you.  I've  noticed  since  I've  been  away 
that  about  everybody  smokes — senators  and  judges,  and 
even  Smithsonian  Institute  folks.  And  when  I  see  how 
much  comfort  they  get  out  of  it,  my  conscience  hurt  me 
to  think  that  I'd  deprived  my  brother  of  what  he  got 
such  a  sight  of  pleasure  from.  Kenelm,  you  can  begin 
smokin'  again  right  off.  Here's  a  box  of  cigars  I  bought 
on  purpose  for  you;  they're  the  kind  the  President 
smokes.' 

"Which  wa'n't  a  bad  yarn  for  a  church  member  that 
hadn't  had  any  more  practice  than  Hannah  had. 

98 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Well,  Kenelm  was  paralyzed,  but  he  lit  up  one  of  the 
cigars  and  found  'twas  better  than  Abbie's  brand.  He 
asked  Hannah  what  she  thought  the  church  folks  would 
say,  but  she  said  she  didn't  care  what  they  said;  her 
travels  had  broadened  her  mind  and  she  couldn't  cramp 
herself  to  the  ideas  of  a  little  narrow  place  like  East 
Wellmouth. 

"Dinner  that  day  was  a  bigger  meal  than  breakfast,  and 
two  of  the  cigars  went  fine  after  it.  Kenelm  hemmed 
and  hawed  and  fin'lly  said  that  he  wouldn't  be  home  to 
supper;  said  he'd  got  to  go  downtown  and  would  get  a 
bite  at  the  Trav'lers'  Rest  or  somewheres.  It  surprised 
him  to  find  that  Hannah  didn't  raise  objections,  but  she 
didn't,  not  a  one.  Just  smiled  and  said,  'All  right,'  and 
told  him  to  have  a  good  time.  And  Abbie's  supper  didn't 
seem  so  good  to  him  that  night,  and  her  cigars — bein'  five 
centers — wa'n't  in  it  with  that  Washington  box. 

"Hannah  didn't  have  dinner  the  next  day  until  two 
o'clock,  but  'twas  worth  waitin'  for.  Turkey  was  twenty- 
three  cents  a  pound,  but  she  had  one,  and  plum  puddin', 
too.  She  kept  pressin'  Kenelm  to  have  a  little  more,  so 
'twas  after  three  when  they  got  up  from  the  table. 

"  'Twas  a  rainy,  drizzly  afternoon  and  the  stove  felt 
mighty  homey  and  cozy.  So  did  the  big  rocker  that  Han 
nah  transplanted  from  the  parlor  to  the  settin'-room. 
That  chair  had  been  a  kind  of  sacred  throne  afore,  and 
to  set  in  it  had  been  sort  of  sacrilegious,  but  there  'twas, 
and  Kenelm  didn't  object.  And  those  President  cigars 
certainly  filled  the  bill. 

"About  half -past  five  Kenelm  got  up  and  looked  out  of 
the  window.  The  rain  come  spattin'  against  the  pane  and 
the  wind  whined  and  sounded  mean.  Kenelm  went  back 
to  the  chair  again.  Then  he  got  up  and  took  another  ob 
servation.  At  last  he  goes  back  to  the  chair,  stretches 

99 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

himself  out,  puts  his  feet  against  the  stove,  pulls  at  the 
cigar,  and  says  he: 

"  'I  was  cal'latin'  to  go  downtown  on  a  bus'ness  trip, 
same's  I  did  last  night.  But  I  guess/  he  says — 'I  guess  I 
won't.  It's  too  comfort'ble  here,'  says  he. 

"And  I  cal'late,"  said  Captain  Obed,  in  conclusion, 
"that  afore  Hannah  turned  in  that  night  she  gave  herself 
three  cheers.  She'd  gained  a  tack  on  Abbie  Larkin  that 
had  put  Abbie  out  of  the  race,  for  that  time,  anyhow." 

"But  who  sent  the  'friend'  letter?"  asked  Thankful, 
whose  thoughts  had  been  diverted  from  her  own  troubles 
by  hearing  those  of  Miss  Parker. 

The  captain  laughed. 

"That's  a  mystery,  even  yet,"  he  said.  "I'm  pretty  sure 
Hannah  thinks  'twas  Elvira  Paine.  Elvira  lives  acrost 
the  road  from  Abbie  Larkin  and,  bein'  a  single  woman 
with  mighty  little  hopes  of  recovery,  naturally  might  be 
expected  to  enjoy  upsettin'  anybody  else's  chance.  But, 
at  any  rate,  Mrs.  Barnes,  the  whole  thing  bears  out  what 
I  said  at  the  beginnin' :  takin'  other  folks'  advice  about 
your  own  affairs  is  mighty  risky.  I  hope,  if  you  do  go 
ahead  with  your  boardin'-house  plan,  it  won't  be  because 
I  called  it  a  good  one." 

Thankful  smiled  and  then  sighed.  "No,"  she  said,  "if 
I  go  ahead  with  it  it'll  be  because  I've  made  up  my  mind 
to,  not  on  account  of  anybody  else's  advice.  I've  steered 
my  own  course  for  quite  a  long  spell  and  I  sha'n't  signal 
for  a  pilot  now.  Well,  here  we  are  home  again — or  at 
East  Wellmouth  anyhow." 

"So  we  be.  Better  come  right  to  Hannah's  along  with 
me,  hadn't  you  ?  You  must  have  had  enough  of  the  Holt 
Waldorf-Astory  by  this  time." 

But  Thankful  insisted  upon  going  to  the  hotel  and 
there  her  new  friend — for  she  had  begun  to  think  of  him 

100 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

as  that — left  her.  She  informed  him  of  her  intention  to 
remain  in  East  Wellmouth  for  another  day  and  a  half 
and  he  announced  his  intention  of  seeing  her  again  before 
she  left. 

"Just  want  to  keep  an  eye  on  you,"  he  said.  "With  all 
of  Mrs.  Holt's  temptin'  meals  set  afore  you  you  may 
get  gout  or  somethin'  from  overeatin'.  Either  that  or 
Winnie  S.'ll  talk  you  deef.  I  feel  a  kind  of  responsibility, 
bein'  as  I'm  liable  to  be  your  next-door  neighbor  if  that 
boardin'-house  does  start  up,  and  I  want  you  to  set  sail 
with  a  clean  bill  of  health.  If  you  sight  a  suspicious- 
lookin'  craft,  kind  of  antique  in  build,  broad  in  the  beam 
and  makin'  heavy  weather  up  the  hills — if  you  sight  that 
kind  of  craft  beatin'  down  in  this  direction  tomorrow 
you'll  know  it's  me.  Good  day." 

Thankful  lay  awake  for  hours  that  night,  thinking, 
planning  and  replanning.  More  than  once  she  decided 
that  she  had  been  too  hasty,  that  her  scheme  involved 
too  great  a  risk  and  that,  after  all,  she  had  better  abandon 
it.  But  each  time  she  changed  her  mind  and  at  last  fell 
asleep  determining  not  to  think  any  more  about  it,  but  to 
wait  until  Mr.  Cobb  came  to  accept  or  decline  the  mort 
gage.  Then  she  would  make  a  final  decision. 

The  next  day  passed  somehow,  though  it  seemed  to  her 
as  if  it  never  would,  and  early  the  following  forenoon 
came  Solomon  himself.  The  man  of  business  was  driv 
ing  an  elderly  horse  which  bore  a  faint  resemblance  to 
its  owner,  being  small  and  thin  and  badly  in  need  of  a 
hairdresser's  services.  If  the  animal  had  possessed 
whiskers  and  could  have  tugged  at  them  Thankful  was 
sure  it  would  have  done  it. 

Solomon  tugged  at  his  own  whiskers  almost  constantly 
during  that  forenoon.  He  and  Mrs.  Barnes  visited  the 
"Captain  Abner  place"  and  Solomon  inspected  every  inch 

101 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

of  its  exterior.  For  some  reason  or  other  he  absolutely 
refused  to  go  inside.  His  conversation  during  the  inspec 
tion  was,  for  the  most  part,  sniffs  and  grunts,  and  it  was 
not  until  it  was  ended  and  they  stood  together  at  the  gate, 
that  he  spoke  to  the  point,  and  then  only  because  his  com 
panion  insisted. 

"Well!"  said  Thankful. 

Mr.  Cobb  "weeded." 

"Eh  ?"  he  said. 

"That's  what  /  say — eh?  What  are  you  goin'  to  do 
about  that  mortgage,  Mr.  Cobb?" 

More  weeding.  Then :  "Waal,  I — I  don't  cal'late  to 
want  to  be  unreasonable  nor  nothin',  but  I  ain't  real  keen 
about  takin'  no  mortgage  on  that  property ;  not  myself,  I 
ain't." 

"Well,  it  is  yourself  I'm  askin'  to  take  it.  So  you 
won't,  hey?  All  right;  that's  all  I  wanted  to  know." 

"Now — now — now,  hold  on !  Hold  on !  I  ain't  sayin'  I 
won't  take  it.  I — I'd  like  to  be  accommodating  'specially 
to  a  relation.  But " 

"Never  mind  the  relation  business.  I  found  out  what 
you  think  of  relations  afore  you  found  out  I  was  one. 
And  I  ain't  askin'  accommodation.  This  is  just  plain 
business,  seems  to  me.  Will  you  let  me  have  two  thou 
sand  dollars  on  a  mortgage  on  this  place?" 

Mr.  Cobb  fidgeted.  "I  couldn't  let  you  have  that 

much,"  he  said.  "1  couldn't.  I — I "  he  wrenched  the 

next  sentence  loose  after  what  seemed  a  violent  effort, 
"I  might  let  you  have  half  of  it — a  thousand,  say." 

But  Thankful  refused  to  say  a  thousand.  That  was 
ridiculous,  she  declared.  By  degrees,  and  a  hundred  at 
a  time,  Solomon  raised  his  offer  to  fifteen  hundred.  This 
being  the  sum  Mrs.  Barnes  had  considered  in  the  first 
place — and  having  asked  for  the  two  thousand  merely 

1 02 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

because  of  her  judgment  of  human  nature — she  an 
nounced  that  she  would  think  over  the  offer.  Then  came 
the  question  of  time.  Here  Mr.  Cobb  was  firm.  Three 
years — two  years — he  would  not  consider.  At  last  he 
announced  that  he  would  take  a  one-year  mortgage  on 
the  Barnes  property  for  fifteen  hundred  dollars ;  and  that 
was  all  he  would  do. 

"And  I  wouldn't  do  that  for  nobody  else,"  he  declared. 
"You  bein'  my  relation  I  don't  know's  it  ain't  my  duty  as 
a  perfessin'  Christian  to — to  help  you  out.  I  hadn't  ought 
to  afford  it,  but  I'm  willin'  to  go  so  far." 

Thankful  shook  her  head.  "I'm  glad  you  said,  'pro- 
fessin'  Christian.'  "  she  observed.  "Well,"  drawing  a 
long  breath,  "then  I  suppose  I've  got  to  say  yes  or 
no.  .  .  .  And  I'll  say  yes,"  she  added  firmly.  "And  we'll 
call  it  settled." 

They  parted  before  the  hotel.  She  was  to  return  to 
South  Middleboro  that  afternoon.  Mr.  Cobb  was  to  pre 
pare  the  papers  and  forward  them  for  her  signature,  after 
which,  upon  receipt  of  them  duly  signed,  he  would  send 
her  the  fifteen  hundred  dollar  check. 

Solomon  climbed  into  the  buggy.  "Well,  good-by,"  he 
said.  "I  hope  you'll  do  fust-rate.  The  interest'll  be  paid 
regular,  of  course.  I'm  real  pleased  to  meet  you — er 
— Cousin  Thankful.  Be  sure  you  sign  them  papers  in  the 
right  place.  Good-by.  Oh — er — er — sometimes  I'll  be 
droppin'  in  to  see  you  after  you  get  your  boardin'-house 
goin'.  I  come  to  East  Wellmouth  once  in  a  while.  Yes — 
yes — I'll  come  and  see  you.  You  can  tell  me  more  about 
Captain  Abner,  you  know.  I'd — I'd  like  to  hear  what  he 
said  to  you  about  me.  Good-by." 

That  afternoon,  once  more  in  the  depot- wagon,  which 
had  been  refitted  with  its  fourth  wheel,  Thankful,  on  her 
way  to  the  Wellmouth  railway  station,  passed  her  "prop- 

103 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

erty."  The  old  house,  its  weather-beaten  shingles  a  cold 
gray  in  the  half-light  of  the  mist-shrouded,  sinking  sun, 
looked  lonely  and  deserted.  A  chill  wind  came  from  the 
sea  and  the  surf  at  the  foot  of  the  bluff  moaned  and 
splashed  and  sighed. 

Thankful  sighed  also. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Winnie  S. 

"Oh,  nothin'  much.  I  wish  I  was  a  prophet,  that's  all. 
I'd  like  to  be  able  to  look  ahead  a  year." 

Winnie  S.  whistled.  "Judas  priest !"  he  said.  "So'd  I. 
But  if  I'd  see  myself  drivin'  this  everlastin'  rig-out  I'd 
wished  I  hadn't  looked.  I  don't  know's  I'd  want  to  see 
ahead  as  fur's  that,  after  all." 

Thankful  sighed  again.  "I  don't  know  as  I  do,  either," 
she  admitted. 


CHAPTER   VII 

MARCH,  so  to  speak,  blew  itself  out;  April  came 
and  went;  May  was  here.  And  on  the  seven 
teenth  of  May  the  repairs  on  the  "Cap'n  Abner 
place"  were  completed.  The  last  carpenter  had  gone, 
leaving  his  shavings  and  chips  behind  him.  The  last 
painter  had  spilled  his  last  splash  of  paint  on  the  sprout 
ing  grass  beneath  the  spotless  white  window  sills.  The 
last  paper-hanger  had  departed.  Winnie  S.  was  loading 
into  what  he  called  a  "truck  wagon"  the  excelsior  and 
bagging  in  which  the  final  consignment  of  new  furniture 
had  been  wrapped  during  its  journey  from  Boston. 
About  the  front  yard  Kenelm  Parker  was  moving,  rake 
in  hand.  In  the  kitchen  Imogene,  the  girl  from  the  Or 
phans'  Home  in  Boston,  who  had  been  engaged  to  act  as 
"hired  help,"  was  arranging  the  new  pots  and  pans  on 
the  closet  shelf  and  singing  "Showers  of  Blessings"  cheer 
fully  if  not  tunefully. 

Yes,  the  old  "Cap'n  Abner  place"  was  rejuvenated  and 
transformed  and  on  the  following  Monday  it  would  be 
the  "Cap'n  Abner  place"  no  longer :  it  would  then  become 
the  "High  Cliff  House"  and  open  its  doors  to  hoped-for 
boarders,  either  of  the  "summer"  or  "all-the-year" 
variety. 

The  name  had  been  Emily  Howes'  choice.  She  and 
Mrs.  Barnes  had  carried  on  a  lengthy  and  voluminous 
correspondence  and  the  selection  of  a  name  had  been  left 

105 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

to  Emily.  To  her  also  had  been  intrusted  the  selection 
of  wallpapers,  furniture  and  the  few  pictures  which 
Thankful  had  felt  able  to  afford.  These  were  but  few, 
for  the  cost  of  repairing  and  refitting  had  been  much 
larger  than  the  original  estimate.  The  fifteen  hundred 
dollars  raised  on  the  mortgage  had  gone  and  of  the 
money  obtained  by  the  sale  of  the  cranberry  bog  shares — 
Mrs.  Pearson's  legacy — nearly  half  had  gone  also.  Esti 
mates  are  one  thing  and  actual  expenditures  are  another, 
a  fact  known  to  everyone  who  has  either  built  a  house 
or  rebuilt  one,  and  more  than  once  during  the  repairing 
and  furnishing  process  Thankful  had  repented  of  her  ven 
ture  and  wished  she  had  not  risked  the  plunge.  But,  hav 
ing  risked  it,  backing  out  was  impossible.  Neither  was  it 
possible  to  stop  half-way.  As  she  said  to  Captain  Obed, 
"There's  enough  half-way  decent  boardin'-houses  and 
hotels  in  this  neighborhood  now.  There's  about  as  much 
need  of  another  of  that  kind  as  there  is  of  an  icehouse  at 
the  North  Pole.  Either  this  boardin'-house  of  mine 
must  be  the  very  best  there  can  be,  price  considered,  or 
it  mustn't  be  at  all.  That's  the  way  I  look  at  it." 

The  captain  had,  of  course,  agreed  with  her.  His  ad 
vice  had  been  invaluable.  He  had  helped  in  choosing 
carpenters  and  painters  and  it  was  owing  to  his  sugges 
tion  that  Mrs.  Barnes  had  refrained  from  engaging  an 
East  Wellmouth  young  woman  to  help  in  the  kitchen. 

"You  could  find  one,  of  course,"  said  the  captain. 
"There's  two  or  three  I  could  think  of  right  off  now 
who  would  probably  take  the  job,  but  two  out  of  the 
three  wouldn't  be  much  account  anyhow,  and  the  only  one 
that  would  is  Sarah  Mullet  and  she's  engaged  to  a  Trumet 
feller.  Now  let  alone  the  prospect  of  Sarah's  gettin' 
married  and  leavin'  you  'most  any  time,  there's  another 
reason  for  not  hirin'  her.  She's  the  everlastin'est  gossip 

106 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

in  Ostable  County,  and  that's  sayin'  somethin'.  What 
Sarah  don't  know  about  everybody's  private  affairs  she 
guesses  and  she  always  guesses  out  loud.  Inside  of  a 
fortnight  she'd  have  all  you  ever  done  and  a  whole  lot 
you  never  thought  of  doin'  advertised  from  Race  P'int  to 
Sagamore.  She's  a  reg'lar  talkin'  foghorn,  if  there  was 
such  a  thing — only  a  foghorn  shuts  down  in  clear  weather 
and  she  don't  shut  down,  day  or  night.  Talks  in  her 
sleep,  I  shouldn't  wonder.  If  I  was  you,  Mrs.  Barnes,  I 
wouldn't  bother  with  any  help  from  'round  here.  I'd 
hire  a  girl  from  Boston,  or  somewheres ;  then  you  could 
be  skipper  of  your  own  ship." 

Thankful,  after  thinking  the  matter  over,  decided  that 
the  advice  was  good.  The  difficulty,  of  course,  was  in  de 
termining  the  "somewhere"  from  which  the  right  sort 
of  servant,  one  willing  to  work  for  a  small  wage,  might 
be  obtained.  At  length  she  wrote  to  a  Miss  Coffin,  once 
a  nurse  in  Middleboro  but  now  matron  of  an  or 
phans'  home  in  Boston.  Miss  Coffin's  reply  was  to 
the  effect  that  she  had,  in  her  institution,  a  girl  who 
might  in  time  prove  to  be  just  the  sort  which  her  friend 
desired. 

Of  course  [she  wrote],  she  isn't  at  all  a  competent  servant 
now,  but  she  is  bright  and  anxious  to  learn.  And  she  is  a 
good  girl,  although  something  of  a  character.  Her  Chris 
tian  name  is  Marguerite,  at  least  she  says  it  is.  What  her 
other  name  is  goodness  only  knows.  She  has  been  with 
us  now  for  nearly  seven  years.  Before  that  she  lived  with 
and  took  care  of  a  drunken  old  woman  who  said  she  was 
the  girl's  aunt,  though  I  doubt  if  she  was.  Suppose  I  send 
her  to  you  on  trial;  you  can  send  her  back  to  us  if  she 
doesn't  suit.  It  would  be  a  real  act  of  charity  to  give  her  a 
chance,  and  I  think  you  will  like  her  in  spite  of  her  funny 
ways. 

107 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

This  doubtful  recommendation  caused  Thankful  to 
shake  her  head.  She  had  great  confidence  in  Miss  Cof 
fin's  judgment,  but  she  was  far  from  certain  that  "Mar 
guerite"  would  suit.  However,  guarded  inquiries  in 
Wellmouth  and  Trumet  strengthened  her  conviction  that 
Captain  Obed  knew  what  he  was  talking  about,  and,  the 
time  approaching  when  she  must  have  some  sort  of  ser 
vant,  she,  at  last,  in  desperation  wrote  her  friend  to  send 
"the  Marguerite  one"  along  for  a  month's  trial. 

The  new  girl  arrived  two  days  later.  Winnie  S. 
brought  her  down  in  the  depot-wagon,  in  company  with 
her  baggage,  a  battered  old  valise  and  an  ancient  um 
brella.  She  clung  to  each  of  these  articles  with  a  death 
grip,  evidently  fearful  that  someone  might  try  to  steal 
them.  She  appeared  to  be  of  an  age  ranging  from  late 
sixteen  to  early  twenty,  and  had  a  turned-up  nose  and 
reddish  hair  drawn  smoothly  back  from  her  forehead 
and  fastened  with  a  round  comb.  Her  smile  was  of  the 
"won't  come  off"  variety. 

Thankful  met  her  at  the  back  door  and  ushered  her 
into  the  kitchen,  the  room  most  free  from  workmen  at 
the  moment. 

"How  do  you  do  ?"  said  the  lady.  "I'm  real  glad  to  see 
you.  Hope  you  had  a  nice  trip  down  in  the  cars." 

"Lordy,  yes'm!"  was  the  emphatic  answer,  accompa 
nied  by  a  brilliant  smile.  "I  never  had  such  a  long 
ride  in  my  life.  'Twas  just  like  bein'  rich.  I  made  believe 
I  was  rich  most  all  the  way,  except  when  a  man  set  down 
in  the  seat  alongside  of  me  and  wanted  to  talk.  Then  I 
didn't  make  believe  none,  I  bet  you !" 

"A  man?"  grinned  Thankful.    "What  sort  of  a  man?" 

"I  don't  know.  One  of  the  railroad  men  I  guess  'twas  ; 
anyhow  he  was  a  fresh  young  guy,  with  some  sort  of  uni 
form  hat  on.  He  asked  me  if  I  didn't  want  him  to  put 

108 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

my  bag  up  in  the  rack.  He  said  you  couldn't  be  too 
careful  of  a  bag  like  that.  I  told  him  never  mind  my 
bag ;  it  was  where  it  belonged  and  it  stayed  shut  up,  which 
was  more'n  you  could  say  of  some  folks  in  this  world.  I 
guess  he  understood ;  anyhow  he  beat  it.  Lordy !"  with 
another  smile.  "I  knew  how  to  treat  his  kind.  Miss 
Coffin's  told  me  enough  times  to  look  out  for  strange 
men.  Is  this  where  I'm  goin'  to  live,  ma'am  ?" 

"Why — why,  yes;  if  you're  a  good  girl  and  try  hard 
to  please  and  to  learn.  Now — er — Marguerite — that's 
your  name,  isn't  it?" 

"No,  ma'am,  my  name's  Imogene." 

"Imo — which  ?  Why !  I  thought  you  was  Marguerite. 
Miss  Coffin  hasn't  sent  another  girl,  has  she  ?" 

"No,  ma'am.  I'm  the  one.  My  name  used  to  be  Mar 
guerite,  but  it's  goin'  to  be  Imogene  now.  I've  wanted 
to  change  for  a  long  while,  but  up  there  to  the  Home 
they'd  got  kind  of  used  to  Marguerite,  so  'twas  easier 
to  let  it  go  at  that.  I  like  Imogene  lots  better;  I  got  it 
out  of  a  book." 

"But — but  you  can't  change  your  name  like  that.  Isn't 
Marguerite  your  real  name  ?" 

"No'm.  Anyhow  I  guess  'tain't.  I  got  that  out  of  a 
book,  too.  Lordy,"  with  a  burst  of  enthusiasm,  "I've 
had  more  names  in  my  time!  My  Aunt  Bridget  she 
called  me  'Mag'  when  she  didn't  make  it  somethin'  worse. 
And  when  I  first  came  to  the  Home  the  kids  called  me 
'Fire  Alarm/  'cause  my  hair  was  red.  And  the  cook 
they  had  then  called  me  'Lonesome,'  'cause  I  guess  I 
looked  that  way.  And  the  matron — not  Miss  Coffin,  but 
the  other  one — called  me  'Maggie.'  I  didn't  like  that,  so 
when  Miss  Coffin  showed  up  I  told  her  I  was  Marguerite. 
But  I'd  rather  be  Imogene  now,  if  you  ain't  particular, 
ma'am." 

109 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Why — um — well,  I  don't  know's  I  am ;  only  seems  to 
me  I'd  settle  on  one  or  t'other  and  stay  put.  What's  your 
last  name?" 

"I  ain't  decided.  Montgomery's  a  kind  of  nice  name 
and  so's  St.  John,  or  Wolcott — there  used  to  be  a  Gov 
ernor  Wolcott,  you  know.  I  s'pose,  now  I'm  out  workin' 
for  myself,  I  ought  to  have  a  last  name.  Maybe  you  can 
pick  one  out  for  me,  ma'am." 

"Humph!  Maybe  I  can.  I've  helped  pick  out  first 
names  for  babies  in  my  time,  but  pickin'  out  a  last  name 
for  anybody  would  be  somethin'  new,  I  will  give  in. 
But  I'll  try,  if  you  want  me  to.  And  you  must  try  to 
do  what  I  want  and  to  please  me.  Will  you  promise  me 
that?" 

"Lordy,yes'm!" 

"Um!  Well,  you  might  begin  by  tryin'  not  to  say 
'Lordy'  quite  so  many  times.  That  would  please  me,  for 
a  start." 

"All  right'm.  I  got  in  the  habit  of  sayin'  it,  I  guess. 
When  I  first  come  to  the  Home  I  used  to  say,  'God  sakes,' 
but  the  matron  didn't  like  that." 

"Mercy  on  us !  I  don't  wonder.  Well — er — Imogene, 
now  I'll  show  you  the  house  and  your  room  and  all.  I 
hope  you  like  'em." 

There  was  no  doubt  of  the  liking.  Imogene  was  de 
lighted  with  everything.  When  she  was  shown  the 
sunny  attic  bedroom  which  was  to  be  hers  she  clapped  her 
hands. 

"It's  elegant,  ma'am,"  she  cried.  "Just  grand!  Oh! 
it's  too  splendid  to  believe  and  yet  there  ain't  any  make- 
believe  in  it.  Lordy!  Excuse  me,  ma'am,  I  forgot.  I 
won't  say  it  again.  I'll  wait  and  see  what  you  say  and 
then  I'll  say  that.  And  now,"  briskly,  "I  guess  you  think 
it's  time  I  was  gettin'  to  work.  All  right,  I  can  work  if 

no 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

I  ain't  got  no  other  accomplishments.  I'm  all  ready  to 
begin." 

As  a  worker  she  was  a  distinct  success.  There  was  not 
a  lazy  bone  in  her  energetic  body.  She  was  up  and 
stirring  each  morning  at  five  o'clock  and  she  evinced 
an  eager  willingness  to  learn  that  pleased  Mrs.  Barnes 
greatly.  Her  knowledge  of  cookery  was  limited,  and 
deadly,  but  as  Thankful  had  planned  to  do  most  of  the 
cooking  herself,  for  the  first  season  at  least,  this  made 
little  difference.  Altogether  the  proprietress  of  the  High 
Cliff  House  was  growing  more  and  more  sure  that  her 
female  "hired  help"  was  destined  to  prove  a  treasure. 

"I  am  real  glad  you  like  it  here  so  well,  Imogene," 
she  said,  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight.  "I  was  afraid  you 
might  be  lonesome,  down  here  so  far  from  the  city." 

Imogene  laughed.  "Who?  Me?"  she  exclaimed.  "I 
guess  not,  ma'am.  Don't  catch  me  bein'  lonesome  while 
there's  folks  around  I  care  about.  I  was  lonesome 
enough  when  I  first  came  to  the  Home  and  the  kids 
used  to  make  fun  of  me.  But  I  ain't  lonesome  now, 
with  you  so  kind  and  nice.  No  indeedy!  I  ain't  lone 
some  and  I  ain't  goin'  to  be.  You  watch!" 

Captain  Obed  heartily  approved  of  Imogene.  Of 
Kenelm  Parker  as  man-of-all-work  his  approval  was 
much  less  enthusiastic.  He  had  been  away  attending  to 
his  fish  weirs,  when  Kenelm  was  hired,  and  the  bargain 
was  made  before  he  returned.  It  was  Hannah  Parker 
who  had  recommended  her  brother  for  the  position.  She 
had  coaxed  and  pleaded  and,  at  last,  Thankful  had  con 
sented  to  Kenelm's  taking  the  place  on  trial. 

"You'll  need  a  nice,  trustworthy  man  to  do  chores," 
said  Hannah.  "Now  Kenelm's  honest ;  there  ain't  a  more 
honest,  conscientious  man  in  East  Wellmouth  than  my 
brother,  if  I  do  say  it.  Take  him  in  the  matter  of  that 

in 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

umbrella  he  lost  the  night  you  first  came,  Mrs.  Barnes. 
Take  that,  for  instance.  He'd  left  it  or  lost  it  some- 
wheres,  he  knew  that,  and  the  ordinary  person  would 
have  been  satisfied;  but  not  Kenelm.  No  sir-ee!  He 
hunted  and  hunted  till  he  found  that  umbrella  and  come 
fetchin'  of  it  home.  'Twas  a  week  afore  he  did  that, 
but  when  he  did  I  says,  'Well/  I  says,  'you  have  got 
more  stick-to-it  than  I  thought  you  had.  You '  " 

"Where  did  he  find  it  ?"  interrupted  Thankful. 

"Land  knows !  He  didn't  seem  to  know  himself — just 
found  it,  he  said.  He  acts  so  sort  of  upsot  and  shame 
ful  about  that  umbrella  that  he  and  I  don't  talk  about  it 
any  more.  But  it  did  show  that  he  had  a  sense  of  re- 
sponsibleness,  and  a  good  one.  Anybody  that'll  stick  to 
and  persecute  a  hunt  for  a  lost  thing  the  way  he  done 
will  stick  to  a  job  the  same  way.  Don't  you  think  so 
yourself,  Mrs.  Barnes?" 

Thankful  was  not  convinced,  but  she  yielded.  When 
she  told  Captain  Bangs  he  laughed  and  observed :  "Yup, 
well,  maybe  so.  Judgin'  by  other  jobs  Kenelm's  had  he'll 
stick  to  this  one  same  as  he  does  to  his  bed  of  a  Sunday 
mornin' — lay  down  on  it  and  go  to  sleep.  However,  I 
presume  likely  he  ought  to  have  the  chance.  Of  course 
Hannah's  idea  is  plain  enough.  Long's  he's  at  work  over 
here,  she  can  keep  an  eye  on  him.  And  it's  a  nice,  satis 
factory  distance  from  the  widow  Larkin,  too." 

So  Kenelm  came  daily  to  work  and  did  work — some. 
When  he  did  not  he  always  had  a  plausible  excuse.  As  a 
self-excuser  he  was  a  shining  light. 

Thankful  had,  during  the  repairs  on  the  house,  waited 
more  or  less  anxiously  for  developments  concerning  the 
mystery  of  the  little  back  bedroom.  Painters  and  paper- 
hangers  had  worked  in  that  room  as  in  others,  but  no 
reports  of  strange  sounds,  or  groans,  or  voices,  had  come 

112 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

from  there.  During  the  week  preceding  the  day  of  for 
mal  opening  Thankful  herself  had  spent  her  nights  in 
that  room,  but  had  not  heard  nor  seen  anything  unusual. 
She  was  now  pretty  thoroughly  convinced  that  the  storm 
had  been  responsible  for  the  groans  and  that  the  rest 
had  been  due  to  her  imagination.  However,  she  deter 
mined  to  let  that  room  and  the  larger  one  adjoining  last 
of  all;  she  would  take  no  chances  with  the  lodgers,  she 
couldn't  afford  it. 

Among  the  equipment  of  the  High  Cliff  House  or  its 
outbuildings  were  a  horse,  a  pig,  and  a  dozen  hens  and 
two  roosters.  Captain  Obed  bought  the  horse  at  Mrs. 
Barnes'  request,  a  docile  animal  of  a  sedate  age.  A 
second-hand  buggy  and  a  second-hand  "open  wagon"  he 
also  bought.  The  pig  and  hens  Thankful  bought  herself 
in  Trumet.  She  positively  would  not  consent  to  the  pig's 
occupying  the  sty  beneath  the  woodshed  and  adjoining 
the  potato  cellar,  so  a  new  pen  was  built  in  the  hollow 
at  the  rear  of  the  house.  Imogene  was  tremendously 
interested  in  the  live-stock.  She  begged  the  privilege  of 
naming  each  animal  and  fowl.  Mrs.  Barnes  had  been 
encouraging  the  girl  to  read  literature  more  substantial 
than  the  "Fireside  Companion"  tales  in  which  she  had 
hitherto  delighted,  and  had,  as  a  beginning,  lent  her  a 
volume  of  United  States  history,  one  of  several  discarded 
schoolbooks  which  Emily  Howes  sent  at  her  cousin's  re 
quest.  Imogene  was  immensely  interested  in  the  his 
tory.  She  had  just  finished  the  Revolution  and  the  effect 
of  her  reading  was  evident  when  she  announced  the 
names  she  had  selected. 

The  horse,  being  the  most  important  of  all  the  live 
stock,  she  christened  George  Washington.  The  pig  was 
named  Patrick  Henry.  The  largest  hen  was  Martha 
Washington.  "As  to  them  two  roosters,"  she  explained, 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"I  did  think  I'd  name  the  big  handsome  one  John  Han 
cock  and  the  littlest  one  George  Three.  They  didn't  like 
each  other,  ma'am,  that  was  plain  at  the  start,  so  I 
thought  they'd  ought  to  be  on  different  sides.  But  the 
very  first  fight  they  had  George  pretty  near  licked  the 
stuffin'  out  of  John,  so  I've  decided  to  change  the  names 
around.  That  ought  to  fix  it;  don't  you  think  so, 
ma'am?" 

On  the  seventeenth  the  High  Cliff  House  was  formally 
opened.  It  was  much  too  early  to  expect  "summer" 
boarders,  but  there  were  three  of  the  permanent  variety 
who  had  already  engaged  rooms.  Of  these  the  first  was 
Caleb  Hammond,  an  elderly  widower,  and  retired  cran 
berry  grower,  whose  wife  had  died  fifteen  years  before 
and  who  had  been  "boarding  around'  in  Wellmouth  Cen 
tre  and  Trumet  ever  since.  Caleb  was  fairly  well-to-do 
and  although  he  had  the  reputation  of  being  somewhat 
"close"  in  many  matters  and  "sot"  in  his  ways,  he  was 
a  respected  member  of  society.  He  selected  a  room  on 
the  second  floor — not  a  front  room,  but  one  on  the 
side  looking  toward  the  Colfax  estate.  The  room  on  the 
other  side,  across  the  hall,  was  taken  by  Miss  Rebecca 
Timpson,  who  had  taught  the  "upstairs"  classes  in  the 
Wellmouth  school  ever  since  she  was  nineteen,  a  con 
siderable  period  of  time. 

The  large  front  rooms,  those  overlooking  the  bluff  and 
the  sea,  Thankful  had  intended  reserving  for  guests  from 
the  city,  but  when  Mr.  Heman  Daniels  expressed  a  wish 
to  engage  and  occupy  one  of  them,  that  on  the  left  of 
the  hall,  she  reconsidered  and  Mr.  Daniels  obtained  his 
desire.  It  was  hard  to  refuse  a  personage  like  Mr.  Dan 
iels  anything.  He  was  not  an  elderly  man;  neither  was 
he,  strictly  speaking,  a  young  one.  His  age  was,  perhaps, 
somewhere  in  the  late  thirties  or  early  forties  and  he 

114 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

was  East  Wellmouth's  leading  kwyer,  in  fact  its  only 
one. 

Heman  was  a  bachelor  and  rather  good-looking.  That 
his  bachelorhood  was  a  matter  of  choice  and  not  necessity 
was  a  point  upon  which  all  of  East  Wellmouth  agreed. 
He  was  a  favorite  with  the  ladies,  most  of  them,  and, 
according  to  common  report,  there  was  a  rich  widow  in 
Bayport  who  would  marry  him  at  a  minute's  notice  if 
he  gave  the  notice.  So  far,  apparently,  he  had  not  given 
it.  He  was  a  "smart"  lawyer,  everyone  said  that,  and  it 
is  probable  that  he  himself  would  have  been  the  last  to 
deny  the  accusation.  He  was  dignified  and  suave  and 
gracious,  also  persuasive  when  he  chose  to  be. 

He  had  been  boarding  with  the  Holts,  but,  like  the 
majority  of  the  hotel  lodgers  and  "mealers,"  was  very 
willing  to  change.  The  location  of  the  High  Cliff  House 
was,  so  he  informed  Thankful,  the  sole  drawback  to  its 
availability  as  a  home  for  him. 

"If  a  bachelor  may  be  said  to  have  a  home,  Mrs. 
Barnes,"  he  added,  graciously.  "However,  I  am  sure 
even  an  unfortunate  single  person  like  myself  may  find 
a  real  home  under  your  roof.  You  see,  your  reputation 
had  preceded  you,  ma'am.  Ha,  ha!  yes.  As  I  say,  the 
location  is  the  only  point  which  has  caused  me  to  hesi 
tate.  My— er — offices  are  on  the  Main  Road  near  the 
postoffice  and  that  is  nearly  a  mile  from  here.  But,  we'll 
waive  that  point,  ma'am.  Six  dollars  a  week  for  the 
room  and  seven  for  meals,  you  say.  Thirteen  dollars 
— an  unlucky  number :  Ha,  ha !  Suppose  we  call  it  twelve 
and  dodge  the  bad  luck,  eh?  That  would  seem  rea 
sonable,  don't  you  think?" 

Thankful  shook  her  head.  "Altogether  too  reasonable, 
Mr.  Daniels,  I'm  afraid,"  she  replied.  "I've  cut  my  rates 
so  close  now  that  I'm  afraid  they'll  catch  cold  in  bad 

"5 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

weather.  Thirteen  dollars  a  week  may  be  unlucky,  but 
twelve  would  be  a  sight  more  unlucky — for  me.  I  can 
let  you  have  a  side  room,  of  course,  and  that  would  be 
cheaper." 

But  Mr.  Daniels  did  not  wish  a  side  room ;  he  desired 
a  front  room  and,  at  last,  consented  to  pay  the  regular 
rate  for  it.  But  when  the  arrangement  was  concluded 
Thankful  could  not  help  feeling  that  she  had  taken  ad 
vantage  of  an  unworldly  innocence. 

Captain  Obed  Bangs,  when  she  told  him,  reassured 
her. 

"Don't  worry,  ma'am,"  he  said.  "I  wouldn't  lay  awake 
nights  fearin'  I'd  got  ahead  of  Heman  Daniels  much.  If 
you  have  got  ahead  of  him  you're  the  only  person  I  ever 
see  that  did,  and  you  ought  to  be  proud  instead  of 
ashamed.  And  I'd  get  him  to  make  his  offer  in  writin' 
and  you  lock  up  the  writin'." 

"Why !  Why,  Captain  Obed !  How  you  do  talk !  You 
don't  mean  that  Mr.  Daniels  is  a  cheat,  do  you?  You 
don't  mean  such  a  thing  as  that?" 

The  captain  waved  a  protesting  hand. 

"No,  no,"  he  declared.  "I  wouldn't  call  any  lawyer 
a  cheat.  That's  too  one-sided  a  deal  to  be  good  business. 
The  expense  of  hirin'  counsel  is  all  on  one  side  if  it 
ever  comes  to  a  libel  suit.  And  besides,  I  don't  think 
Daniels  is  a  cheat.  I  never  heard  of  him  doin'  anything 
that  wa'n't  legally  honest.  He's  sharp  and  he's  smart,  but 
he's  straight  enough.  I  was  only  jokin',  Mrs.  Barnes. 
Sometimes  I  think  I  ought  to  hang  a  lantern  on  my  jokes ; 
then  folks  would  see  'em  quicker." 

So  Mr.  Daniels  came,  and  Mr.  Hammond  came,  and 
so  also  did  Miss  Timpson.  The  first  dinner  was  served 
in  the  big  dining-room  and  it  was  a  success,  everyone 
said  so.  Beside  the  boarders  there  were  invited  guests, 

116 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Captain  Bangs  and  Hannah  Parker,  and  Kenelm  also.  It 
was  a  disappointment  to  Thankful,  although  she  kept  the 
disappointment  to  herself,  the  fact  that  the  captain  had 
not  shifted  what  he  called  his  "moorings"  to  her  establish 
ment.  She  had  hoped  he  might;  she  liked  him  and  she 
believed  him  to  be  just  the  sort  of  boarder  she  most  de 
sired.  It  may  be  that  he,  too,  was  disappointed.  What 
he  said  was: 

"You  see,  ma'am,  I've  been  anchorin'  along  with  Han 
nah  and  Kenelm  now  for  quite  a  spell.  They  took  me  in 
when  'twas  a  choice  between  messin'  at  the  Holt  place 
or  eatin'  grass  in  the  back  yard  like  King  Nebuchadnezzar. 
Hannah  don't  keep  a  reg'lar  boardin'-house  but  she  does 
sort  of  count  on  me  as  one  of  the  family,  and  I  don't 
feel  'twould  be  right  to  shift — not  yet,  anyhow.  But 
maybe  I  can  pilot  other  craft  into  High  Cliff  Harbor, 
even  if  I  don't  call  it  my  own  home  port." 

That  first  dinner  was  a  bountiful  meal.  Miss  Parker 
expressed  the  general  opinion,  although  it  was  expressed 
in  her  own  way,  when  she  said : 

"My  sakes  alive,  Mrs.  Barnes !  If  this  is  the  way 
you're  goin'  to  feed  your  boarders  right  along  then  I 
say  it's  remarkable.  I've  been  up  to  Boston  a  good  many 
times  in  my  life,  and  I've  been  to  Washington  once,  but 
in  all  my  experience  at  high-toned  hotels  I  never  set  down 
to  a  better  meal.  It's  a  regular  Beelzebub's  feast,  like  the 
one  in  Scriptur' — leavin'  out  the  writin'  on  the  wall  of 
course." 

Kenelm  ate  enough  for  two  and  then,  announcing  that 
he  couldn't  heave  away  no  more  time,  having  work  to  do, 
retired  to  the  rear  of  the  barn  where,  the  rake  beside 
him,  he  slumbered  peacefully  for  an  hour. 

"There !"  said  Thankful  to  Imogene  that  night.  "We've 
started  anyhow.  And  'twas  a  good  start  if  I  do  say  it." 

117 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Imogene.  "I  should  say  'twas 
good !  But  if  them  boarders  eat  as  much  every  day  as  they 
have  this  one  'twon't  be  a  start,  'twill  be  a  finish.  Lor — I 
mean  mercy  on  us,  ma'am — if  this  is  a  boardin'-house 
I'd  like  to  know  what  a  palace  is.  Why  a  king  never 
had  better  grub  served  to  him.  Huh !  I  guess  he  didn't. 
Old  George  Three  used  to  eat  gruel,  like  a — like  a  sick 
orphan  at  the  Home.  Oh,  he  did,  ma'am,  honest !  I  read 
about  it  in  one  of  them  history  books  you  lent  me.  He 
was  a  tight-wad  old  gink,  he  was.  Are  you  goin'  to  give 
these  guys  as  much  every  meal,  ma'am-?" 

"I  mean  to,  of  course,"  declared  Mrs.  Barnes.  "No 
body  shall  starve  at  my  table.  And  please,  Imogene,  don't 
call  people  ginks  and  guys.  That  ain't  nice  talk  for  a 
young  woman." 

Imogene  apologized  and  promised  to  be  more  careful. 
But  she  thought  a  great  deal  and,  at  the  end  of  the  first 
week,  she  imparted  her  thoughts  to  Captain  Obed. 

"Say,  Captain  Bangs,"  she  said,  "do  you  know  what 
is  the  matter  with  the  name  of  this  place?  I  tell  you 
what  I  think  is  the  matter.  It  hadn't  ought  to  be  the 
High  Cliff  House.  The  cheap  Cliff  House  would  be 
a  sight  better.  Givin'  guys — folks,  I  mean — fifteen-dol- 
lar-a-week  board  for  seven  dollars  may  be  mighty  nice 
for  them,  but  it's  plaguy  poor  business  for  Mrs.  Thank 
ful." 

The  captain  shook  his  head;  he  had  been  thinking, 
too,  and  his  conclusions  were  much  the  same. 

"You  mustn't  find  fault  with  Mrs.  Barnes,  Imogene," 
he  said.  "She's  a  mighty  fine  woman." 

"Fine  woman !  You  bet  she  is !  She's  too  plaguy  fine, 
that's  the  trouble  with  her.  She's  so  afraid  her  board- 
ers'll  starve  that  she  forgets  all  about  makin'  money. 
She's  the  best  woman  there  is  in  the  world,  but  she  needs 

118 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

a  mean  partner.  Then  the  two  of  them  might  average  up 
all  right,  I  guess." 

Captain  Obed  rubbed  his  chin.  "Think  she  needs  a 
business  manager,  eh?"  he  observed. 

Imogene  nodded  emphatically.  "She  needs  two  of 
them,"  she  declared.  "One  to  manage  the  place  and  an 
other  to  keep  that  Parker  man  workin'.  He  can  eat  more 
and  talk  more  and  work  less  than  any  guy  ever  /  see. 
Why,  he'd  spend  half  his  time  in  this  kitchen  gassin'  with 
me,  if  I'd  let  him.  But  you  bet  I  don't  let  him." 

The  captain  thought  more  and  more  during  the  days 
that  followed.  At  length  he  wrote  a  letter  to  Emily 
Howes  at  South  Middleboro.  In  it  he  expressed  his  fear 
that  Mrs.  Barnes,  although  in  all  other  respects  perfect, 
was  a  too  generous  ''provider"  to  be  a  success  as  a  board 
ing-house  keeper  in  East  Wellmouth. 

She'll  have  boarders  enough,  you  needn't  worry  about  that, 
[he  wrote]  but  she'll  lose  money  on  every  one.  I've  tried  to 
hint,  but  she  don't  take  the  hint,  and  it  ain't  any  of  my 
affair,  rightly  speaking,  so  I  can't  speak  out  plain.  Can't 
you  write  her  a  sort  of  warning  afore  it's  too  late?  Or 
better  still,  can't  you  come  down  here  and  talk  to  her?  I 
wish  you  would.  Excuse  my  nosing  in  and  writing  you  this 
way,  please.  I'm  doing  it  just  because  I  want  to  see  her 
win  out  in  the  race,  that's  all.  I  wish  you'd  answer  this 
pretty  prompt,  if  you  don't  mind. 

But  the  reply  he  hoped  for  did  not  come  and  he  began 
to  fear  that  he  had  made  a  bad  matter  worse  by  writing. 
Doubtless  Miss  Howes  resented  his  "nosing  in." 

Thankful  now  began  advertising  in  the  Boston  papers. 
And  the  answers  to  the  ads  began  to  arrive.  Sometimes 
men  and  women  from  the  city  came  down  to  inspect  the 
High  Cliff  House,  preparatory  to  opening  negotiations 

119 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

for  summer  quarters.  They  inspected  the  house,  itself, 
interviewed  Thankful,  strolled  along  the  bluff  admiring 
the  view,  and  sampled  a  meal.  Then,  almost  without  ex 
ception,  they  agreed  upon  terms  and  selected  rooms. 
That  the  house  would  be  full  from  top  to  bottom  by  the 
first  of  July  was  now  certain.  But,  as  Imogene  said  to 
Captain  Bangs,  "If  we  lose  five  dollars  a  week  on  every 
one  of  'em  that  ain't  nothin'  to  hurrah  about,  seems  to 
me." 

The  captain  had  not  piloted  any  new  boarders  to  the 
High  Cliff.  Perhaps  he  thought,  under  the  circumstances, 
this  would  be  a  doubtful  kindness.  But  the  time  came 
when  he  did  bring  one  there.  And  the  happenings  lead 
ing  to  that  result  were  these: 

It  was  a  day  in  the  first  week  in  June  and  Captain 
Obed,  having  business  in  Wellmouth  Centre,  had  hired 
George  Washington,  Mrs.  Barnes'  horse,  and  the  buggy 
and  driven  there.  The  business  done  he  left  the  placid 
George  moored  to  a  hitching-post  by  the  postoffice  and 
strolled  over  to  the  railway  station  to  watch  the  noon 
train  come  in. 

The  train  was,  of  course,  late,  but  not  very  late  in  this 
instance,  and  the  few  passengers  alighted  on  the  station 
platform.  The  captain,  seated  on  the  baggage-truck,  no 
ticed  one  of  these  passengers  in  particular.  He  was  a 
young  fellow,  smooth-faced  and  tall,  and  as,  suitcase  in 
hand,  he  swung  from  the  last  car  and  strode  up  the 
platform  it  seemed  to  Captain  Obed  as  if  there  was  some 
thing  oddly  familiar  in  that  stride  and  the  set  of  his 
square  shoulders.  His  face,  too,  seemed  familiar.  The 
captain  felt  as  if  he  should  recognize  him — but  he  did 
not. 

He  came  swinging  on  until  he  was  opposite  the  bag 
gage-truck.  Then  he  stopped  and  looked  searchingly  at 

1 20 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

the  bulky  form  of  the  man  seated  upon  it.  He  stepped 
closer  and  looked  again.  Then,  with  a  twinkle  in  his 
quiet  gray  eye,  he  did  a  most  amazing  thing — he  began 
to  sing.  To  sing — not  loudly,  of  course,  but  rather  under 
his  breath.  And  this  is  what  he  sang : 

"Said  all  the  little  fishes  that  swim  there  below: 

'It's  the  Liverpool  packet!    Good  Lord,  let  her  go!'  " 

To  the  average  person  this  would  have  sounded  like  the 
wildest  insanity.  But  not  to  Captain  Obed  Bangs  of  East 
Wellmouth.  The  captain  sprang  from  the  truck  and  held 
out  his  hand. 

"Johnnie  Kendrick!"  he  shouted.  "It's  Johnnie  Ken- 
drick,  I  do  believe !  Well,  I  swan  to  man !" 

The  young  man  laughed,  and,  seizing  the  captain's 
hand,  shook  it  heartily. 

"I  am  glad  you  do,"  he  said.  "If  you  hadn't  swanned 
to  man  I  should  have  been  afraid  there  was  more  change 
in  Captain  Obed  Bangs  than  I  cared  to  see.  Captain 
Obed,  how  are  you?" 

Captain  Obed  shook  his  head.  "I — I — "  he  stammered. 
"Well,  I  cal'late  my  timbers  are  fairly  strong  if  they 
can  stand  a  shock  like  this.  Johnnie  Kendrick,  of  all 
folks  in  the  world !" 

"The  very  same,  Captain." 

"And  you  knew  me  right  off!  Well  done  for  you, 
John!  Why,  it's  all  of  twenty  odd  year  since  you  used 
to  set  on  a  nail  keg  in  my  boathouse  and  tease  me  into 
singing  the  Dreadnought  chanty.  /  remember  that.  Good 
land !  I  ought  to  remember  the  only  critter  on  earth  that 
ever  asked  me  to  sing.  Ho !  ho !  but  you  was  a  little  tow- 
headed  shaver  then;  and  now  look  at  you!  What  are 
you  doin'  away  down  here?" 

121 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

John  Kendrick  shook  his  head.  "I  don't  know  that 
I'm  quite  sure  myself,  Captain,"  he  said.  "I  have  some 
suspicions,  pf  course,  but  they  may  not  be  confirmed. 
First  of  all  I'm  going  over  to  East  Wellmouth;  so  just 
excuse  me  a  minute  while  I  speak  to  the  driver  of  the 
bus." 

He  was  hurrying  away,  but  his  companion  caught  his 
arm. 

"Heave  to,  John !"  he  ordered.  "I've  got  a  horse  and  a 
buggy  here  myself,  such  as  they  are,  and  unless  you're 
dead  sot  on  bookin'  passage  in  Winnie  S.'s — what  did  you 
call  it  ? — bust — I'd  be  mighty  glad  to  have  you  make  the 
trip  along  with  me.  No,  no.  'Twon't  be  any  trouble. 
Come  on !" 

Five  minutes  later  they  were  seated  in  the  buggy  and 
George  Washington  was  jogging  with  dignified  delibera 
tion  along  the  road  toward  East  Wellmouth. 

"And  why,"  demanded  Captain  Obed,  "have  you  come 
to  Wellmouth  again,  after  all  these  years?" 

Mr.  Kendrick  smiled. 

"Well,  Captain  Bangs,"  he  said,  "it  is  barely  possible 
that  I've  come  here  to  stay." 

"To  stay !    You  don't  mean  to  stay  for  good  ?" 

"Well,  that,  too,  is  possible.  Being  more  or  less  op 
timistic,  we'll  hope  that  if  I  do  stay  it  will  be  for  good. 
I'm  thinking  of  living  here." 

His  companion  turned  around  on  the  seat  to  stare  at 
him. 

"Livin'  here !"  he  repeated.  "You  ?  What  on  earth —  ? 
What  are  you  goin'  to  do  ?" 

The  passenger's  eyes  twinkled,  but  his  tone  was  sol 
emn  enough. 

"Nothing,  very  likely,"  he  replied.  "That's  what  I've 
been  doing  for  some  time." 

122 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"But — but,  the  last  I  heard  of  you,  you  was  practicin' 
law  over  to  New  York." 

"So  I  was.  That,  for  a  young  lawyer  without  funds 
or  influence,  is  as  near  doing  nothing  as  anything  I  can 
think  of." 

"But— but,  John " 

"Just  a  minute,  Captain.  The  'buts'  are  there,  plenty 
of  them.  Before  we  reach  them,  however,  perhaps  I'd 
better  tell  you  the  story  of  my  life.  It  isn't  exciting 
enough  to  make  you  nervous,  but  it  may  explain  a  few 
things." 

He  told  his  story.  It  was  not  the  story  of  his  life, 
his  whole  life,  by  any  means.  The  captain  already  knew 
the  first  part  of  that  life.  He  had  known  the  Ken- 
dricks  ever  since  he  had  known  anyone.  Every  person 
in  East  Wellmouth  of  middle  age  or  older  remembered 
when  the  two  brothers,  Samuel  Kendrick  and  Bailey 
Kendrick — Bailey  was  John's  father — lived  in  the  vil 
lage  and  were  the  "big"  men  of  the  community.  Bailey 
was  the  more  important  and  respected  at  that  time,  for 
Samuel  speculated  in  stocks  a  good  deal  and  there  were 
seasons  when  he  was  so  near  bankruptcy  that  gossip 
declared  he  could  not  pass  the  poorhouse  without  shiv 
ering.  If  it  had  not  been  for  his  brother  Bailey,  so  that 
same  gossip  affirmed,  he  would  most  assuredly  have  gone 
under,  but  Bailey  lent  him  money  and  helped  him  in 
many  ways.  Both  brothers  were  widowers  and  each  had 
a  son ;  but  Samuel's  boy  Erastus  was  fifteen  years  older 
than  John. 

The  families  moved  from  Wellmouth  when  John  was 
six  years  old.  They  went  West  and  there,  so  it  was  said, 
the  positions  of  the  brothers  changed.  Samuel's  luck 
turned ;  he  made  some  fortunate  stock  deals  and  became 
wealthy.  Bailey,  however,  lost  all  he  had  in  bad  min- 

123 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Jng  ventures  and  sank  almost  to  poverty.  Both  had  been 
dead  for  years  now,  but  Samuel's  son,  Erastus — he  much 
preferred  to  be  called  E.  Holliday  Kendrick — was  a  man 
of  consequence  in  New  York,  a  financier,  with  offices  on 
Broad  Street  and  a  home  on  Fifth  Avenue.  John,  the 
East  Wellmouth  people  had  last  heard  of  as  having 
worked  his  way  through  college  and  law  school  and  as 
practicing  his  profession  in  the  big  city. 

So  much  Captain  Bangs  knew.  And  John  Kendrick 
told  him  the  rest.  The  road  to  success  for  a  young  at 
torney  in  New  York  he  had  found  hard  and  discourag 
ing.  For  two  years  he  had  trodden  it  and  scarcely  earned 
enough  to  keep  himself  alive.  Now  he  had  decided,  or 
practically  decided,  to  give  up  the  attempt,  select  some 
small  town  or  village  and  try  his  luck  there.  East  Well- 
mouth  was  the  one  village  he  knew  and  remembered 
with  liking.  So  to  East  Wellmouth  he  had  come,  to,  as 
Captain  Obed  described  it,  "take  soundin's  and  size  up 
the  fishin'  grounds." 

"So  there  you  are,  Captain,"  he  said,  in  conclusion. 
"That  is  why  I  am  here." 

The  captain  nodded  reflectively. 

"Urn — yes,"  he  said.  "I  see;  I  see.  Well,  well;  and 
you're  figgerin'  on  bein'  a  lawyer  here — in  East  Well- 
mouth  ?" 

Mr.  Kendrick  nodded  also.  "It  may,  and  probably 
will  be,  pretty  close  figuring  at  first,"  he  admitted,  "but 
at  least  there  will  be  no  more  ciphers  in  the  sum  than 
there  were  in  my  Manhattan  calculations.  Honestly 
now,  Captain  Bangs,  tell  me — what  do  you  think  of  the 
idea?" 

The  captain  seemed  rather  dubious. 

"Humph !"  he  grunted.  "Well,  I  don't  know,  John. 
East  Wellmouth  ain't  a  very  big  place." 

124 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"I  know  that.  Of  course  I  shouldn't  hope  to  do  much 
in  East  Wellmouth  alone.  But  it  seemed  to  me  I  might 
do  as  other  country  lawyers  have  done,  have  an  office — 
or  a  desk — in  several  other  towns  and  be  in  those  towns 
on  certain  days  in  the  week.  I  think  I  should  like  to  live 
in  East  Wellmouth,  though.  It  is — not  to  be  sentimental 
but  just  truthful — the  one  place  I  remember  where  I  was 
really  happy.  And,  as  I  remember  too,  there  used  to  be 
no  lawyer  there." 

Captain  Obed's  forehead  puckered. 

"That's  just  it,  John,"  he  said.  "There  is  a  lawyer 
here  now.  Good  deal  of  a  lawyer,  too — if  you  ask  him. 
Name's  Heman  Daniels.  You  used  to  know  him  as  a 
boy,  didn't  you  ?" 

Kendrick  nodded  assent. 

"I  think  I  did,"  he  said.  "Yes,  I  remember  him.  He 
was  one  of  the  big  boys  when  I  was  a  little  one,  and  he 
used  to  bully  us  small  chaps." 

"That's  the  feller.  He  ain't  changed  his  habits  so 
much,  neither.  But  he's  our  lawyer  and  I  cal'late  he's 
doin'  well." 

"Is  he?  Well,  that's  encouraging,  at  any  rate.  And 
he's  the  only  lawyer  you  have?  Only  one  lawyer  in  a 
whole  town.  Why  in  New  York  I  couldn't  throw  a 
cigar  stump  from  my  office  window  without  running  the 
risk  of  hitting  at  least  two  and  starting  two  damage 
suits." 

The  captain  chuckled. 

"I  presume  likely  you  didn't  throw  many,"  he  observed. 
"That  would  be  expensive  fun." 

"It  would,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "Cigars  cost 
money." 

They  jogged  on  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence.  Then 
said  Captain  Obed: 

125 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Well,  John,  what  are  you  plannin'  to  do  first?  After 
we  get  into  port,  I  mean." 

"I  scarcely  know.  Look  about,  perhaps.  Possibly  try 
out  a  boarding-house  and  hunt  for  a  prospective  office. 
By  the  way,  Captain,  you  don't  happen  to  know  of  a 
good,  commodious  two  by  four  office  that  I  could  hire 
at  a  two  by  four  figure,  do  you?  One  not  so  far  from 
the  main  street  that  I  should  wear  out  an  extravagant 
amount  of  shoe  leather  walking  to  and  from  it?" 

More  reflection  on  the  captain's  part.    Then  he  said: 

"Well,  I  don't  know  as  I  don't.  John,  111  tell  you: 
I've  got  a  buildin'  of  my  own.  Right  abreast  the  post- 
office  ;  Henry  Cahoon  has  been  usin'  it  for  a  barber-shop. 
But  Henry's  quit,  and  it's  empty.  The  location's  pretty 
good  and  the  rent — well,  you  and  me  wouldn't  pull  hair 
over  the  rent  question,  I  guess." 

"Probably  not,  but  I  should  insist  on  paying  as  much 
as  your  barber  friend  did.  This  isn't  a  charity  proposi 
tion  I'm  making  you,  Captain  Bangs.  Oh,  let  me  ask  this : 
Has  this — er — office  of  yours  got  a  good  front  window  ?" 

"Front  window !  What  in  time — ?  Yes,  I  guess  likely 
the  front  window's  all  right.  But  what  does  a  lawyer 
want  of  a  front  window?" 

"To  look  out  of.  About  all  a  young  lawyer  does  is  look 
out  of  the  window.  Now  about  a  boarding-place?" 

Captain  Obed  had  been  waiting  for  this  question. 

"I've  got  a  boardin'-place  for  you,  John,"  he  declared. 
"The  office  I  may  not  be  so  sartin  about,  but  the  board 
in'-place  I  am.  There  ain't  a  better  one  this  side  of 
Boston  and  I  know  it.  And  the  woman  who  keeps  it  is 
— well,  you  take  my  word  for  it  she's  all  right." 

His  passenger  regarded  him  curiously. 

"You  seem  very  enthusiastic,  Captain,"  he  observed, 
with  a  smile. 

126 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Captain  Bangs'  next  remark  was  addressed  to  the 
horse.  He  gruffly  bade  the  animal  "gid-dap"  and  ap 
peared  a  trifle  confused. 

"I  am,"  he  admitted,  after  a  moment.  "You'll  be,  too, 
when  you  see  her." 

He  described  the  High  Cliff  House  and  its  owner.  Mr. 
Kendrick  asked  the  terms  for  board  and  an  "average" 
room.  When  told  he  whistled. 

"That  isn't  high,"  he  said.  "For  such  a  place  as  you 
say  this  is  it  is  very  low.  But  I  am  afraid  it  is  too  high 
for  me.  Isn't  there  any  other  establishment  where  they 
care  for  men — and  poor  lawyers?" 

"Yes,  there  is,  but  you  shan't  go  to  it,  not  if  I  can  stop 
you.  You  come  right  along  with  me  now  to  the  High 
Cliff  and  have  dinner.  Yes,  you  will.  I  ain't  had  a 
chance  to  treat  you  for  twenty  year  and  I'm  goin'  to  buy 
you  one  square  meal  if  I  have  to  feed  you  by  main 
strength.  Don't  you  say  another  word.  There !  There's 
East  Wellmouth  dead  ahead  of  us.  And  there's  the 
High  Cliff  House,  too.  Git  dap,  Father  of  your  Country ! 
See!  He's  hungry,  too,  and  he  knows  what  he'll  get, 
same  as  I  do." 

They  drove  into  the  yard  of  Mrs.  Barnes'  "property" 
and  Thankful  herself  met  them  at  the  door.  Captain 
Obed  introduced  his  passenger  and  announced  that  the 
latter  gentleman  and  he  would  dine  there.  The  lady 
seemed  glad  to  hear  this,  but  she  seemed  troubled,  too. 
When  she  and  the  captain  were  alone  together  she  dis 
closed  the  cause  of  her  trouble. 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  goin'  to  lose  my  best  boarder,"  she 
said.  "Mr.  Daniels  says  he's  afraid  he  must  take  his 
meals  nearer  his  place  of  business.  And,  if  he  does  that, 
he'll  get  a  room  somewheres  uptown.  I'm  awful  sorry. 
He's  about  the  highest  payin'  roomer  I  have  and  I  did 

127 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

think  he  was  permanent.  Oh,  dear!"  she  added.  "It 
does  seem  as  if  there  was  just  one  thing  after  the  other 
to  worry  me.  I — I  don't  seem  to  be  makin'  both  ends 
meet  the  way  I  hoped.  And — and  lookin'  out  for  every 
thing  myself,  the  way  I  have  to  do,  keeps  me  stirred  up 
all  the  time.  I  feel  almost  sort  of  discouraged.  I  know 
I  shouldn't,  so  soon,  of  course.  It's — it's  because  I'm 
tired  today,  I  guess  likely." 

"Yes,  I  guess  likely  'tis.  Tired !  I  shouldn't  wonder  ? 
It  ain't  any  of  my  affairs  at  all,  Mrs.  Barnes,  and  I  beg 
your  pardon  for  say  in'  it,  but  if  you  don't  have  some 
good  capable  person  to  take  some  of  the  care  and  man- 
agin'  of  this  place  off  your  shoulders  you'll  be  down  sick 
afore  the  summer's  through." 

Thankful  sighed,  and  then  smiled.  "I  know  I  need 
help,  the  right  kind  of  help,  just  as  well  as  you  do, 
Cap'n  Bangs,"  she  said.  "But  I  know,  too,  that  I  can't 
afford  to  pay  for  it,  so  I  must  get  along  best  I  can  with 
out  it.  As  for  gettin'  sick — well,  I  can't  afford  that, 
either." 

At  dinner  John  Kendrick  met  Mr.  Heman  Daniels  and 
Miss  Timpson  and  Caleb  Hammond.  All  three  were  evi 
dently  very  curious  concerning  the  business  which  had 
brought  the  young  man  to  East  Wellmouth,  but  their 
curiosity  was  not  satisfied.  Kendrick  himself  refused  to 
notice  hints  and  insinuations  and,  though  he  talked  freely 
on  most  subjects,  would  not  talk  of  his  own  affairs.  Cap 
tain  Obed,  of  course,  disclosed  nothing  of  the  knowledge 
he  had  gained.  So  the  table  talk  dealt  mainly  with  the 
changes  in  the  village  since  John  was  a  boy  there,  and 
of  old  times  and  old  residents  long  gone. 

Mr.  Daniels  was  very  gracious  and  very  affable.  He 
spoke  largely  of  cases  intrusted  to  his  care,  of  respon 
sibilities  and  trusts,  and  if  the  guest  gained  the  idea  that 

128 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Mr.  Daniels  was  a  very  capable  and  prosperous  lawyer 
indeed — if  he  gained  such  an  idea  and  did  not  express  it, 
how  could  Heman  be  expected  to  contradict? 

After  dinner — Kendrick  informed  his  friend  it  was 
one  of  the  best  he  had  ever  eaten — he  and  the  captain 
walked  over  to  the  village,  where  they  spent  the  after 
noon  wandering  about,  inspecting  the  ex-barber-shop  and 
discussing  chances  and  possibilities.  The  young  man 
was  still  doubtful  of  East  Wellmouth's  promise  of  pro 
fessional  opportunities.  He  should  like  to  live  there,  he 
said,  and  he  might  decide  to  do  so,  but  as  yet  he  had 
not  so  decided.  He  seemed  more  pessimistic  than  during 
the  drive  down  from  the  station.  Captain  Obed,  how 
ever,  and  oddly  enough,  was  much  more  optimistic  than 
he  had  been  at  first. 

"I  don't  know,  John,"  he  said,  "but  I  ain't  sure  you 
couldn't  make  good,  and  pretty  good,  too,  by  settlin'  here. 
This  section  needs  a  good  lawyer." 

"Another  good  lawyer  you  mean.  Daniels  is  here,  re 
member.  Judging  by  his  remarks  this  noon  he  is  very 
much  here." 

"Um — yes,  I  know.  If  you  take  his  remarks  at  the 
value  he  marks  'em  with  he's  the  whole  bank  and  a  safe- 
deposit  vault  hove  in.  But  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  those  re 
marks  was  subject  to  a  discount.  Anyhow  I  know  mighty 
well  there's  a  lot  of  folks  in  this  town — good  substantial 
folks,  too — who  don't  like  him.  They  hire  him  once  in  a 
while  because  there  ain't  another  lawyer  short  of 
Trumet  and  that's  quite  a  ways.  But  maybe  they'd 
be  mighty  glad  to  shift  if  there  was  a  chance  right  at 
hand.  Don't  you  strike  the  colors  yet  awhile.  Think  it 
over  first." 

He  insisted  upon  Kendrick's  returning  to  the  High 
Cliff  House  that  night.  "I  want  Mrs.  Barnes  to  show 

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THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

you  the  room  she's  got  vacant,"  he  said.  "Ain't  no  harm 
lookin'  at  a  brindle  calf,  as  the  feller  said;  you  don't  have 
to  buy  the  critter  unless  you  want  to." 

So  Mr.  Kendrick  inspected  the  rooms  and  expressed 
himself  as  delighted  with  them. 

"They're  all  right  in  every  respect,  Captain,"  he  de 
clared.  "And  the  food  is  more  than  that.  But  the  price 
— although  it's  surprisingly  low  considering  the  value  of 
fered — is  too  steep  for  me.  I'm  afraid,  if  I  should  locate 
here,  for  a  trial  trip,  I  couldn't  afford  to  be  comfortable 
and  I  shouldn't  expect  to." 

Captain  Bangs  remained  to  take  supper  with  his  friend. 
The  meal  over,  they  and  the  rest  of  the  boarders  were 
seated  in  the  big  living-room — once  Captain  Abner's  "best 
parlor" — when  there  came  from  outside  the  rattle  of 
wheels  and  the  voice  of  Winnie  S.  shouting  "Whoa !"  to 
General  Jackson. 

Thankful,  who  had  been  in  the  kitchen  superintending 
Imogene,  who  was  learning  rapidly,  came  hurrying  to  the 
front  door.  The  group  in  the  parlor  heard  her  utter  an 
exclamation,  an  exclamation  of  surprise  and  delight. 
There  were  other  exclamations,  also  in  a  feminine  voice, 
and  the  sounds  of  affectionate  greetings.  Then  Mrs. 
Barnes,  her  face  beaming,  ushered  into  the  living-room  a 
young  woman.  And  this  young  woman  was  her  cousin, 
Emily  Howes. 

Captain  Obed  rose  to  greet  her. 

"Well,  I  swan  to  man,  Miss  Howes !"  he  cried.  "This 
is  a  surprise !  I  didn't  know  you  was  due  for  a  v'yage  in 
this  latitude." 

Thankful  laughed.  "Neither  did  I,"  she  declared. 
"It's  as  big  a  surprise  to  me  as  it  is  to  you,  Cap'n.  She 
didn't  write  me  a  word." 

Emily  laughed. 

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THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Of  course  I  didn't,  Auntie,"  she  said.  "I  wanted  to 
surprise  you.  But  you're  glad  to  see  me,  aren't  you  ?" 

"Glad!  I  don't  believe  I  was  ever  so  glad  to  see  any 
body  in  my  life." 

"We're  all  glad  to  see  you,  Miss  Howes,"  announced 
the  captain.  "Come  down  to  make  us  a  little  visit,  hey  ?" 

"Oh,  more  than  a  little  one.  You  can't  escape  so 
easily.  I  am  going  to  stay  all  summer  at  least,  perhaps 
longer.  There,  Aunt  Thankful,  what  do  you  think  of 
that?" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WHAT  Thankful  thought  of  it  was  evidenced  by 
the  manner  in  which  she  received  the  news. 
She  did  not  say  much,  then,  but  the  expression 
of  relief  and  delight  upon  her  face  was  indication  suffi 
cient.  She  did  ask  a  number  of  questions:  Why  had 
Emily  come  then,  so  long  before  her  school  closed  ?  How 
was  it  that  she  could  leave  her  teaching?  Why  hadn't 
she  written  ?  And  many  others. 

Miss  Howes  answered  the  questions  one  after  the  other. 
She  had  come  in  May  because  she  found  that  she  could 
come. 

"I  meant  to  come  the  very  first  moment  it  was  possible 
for  me  to  do  so,"  she  said.  "I  have  been  more  interested 
in  this  new  project  of  yours,  Auntie,  than  anything  else 
in  the  world.  You  knew  that ;  I  told  you  so  before  I  left 
and  I  have  written  it  many  times  since.  I  came  now 
because — well,  because — you  mustn't  be  alarmed,  Auntie ; 
there  is  nothing  to  be  frightened  about — but  the  school 
committee  seemed  to  feel  that  I  needed  a  change  and 
rest.  They  seemed  to  think  that  I  was  not  as  well  as  I 
should  be,  that  I  was  tired,  was  wearing  myself  out ;  that 
is  the  way  they  expressed  it.  It  was  absurd,  of  course,  I 
am  perfectly  well.  But  when  they  came  to  me  and  told 
me  that  they  had  decided  to  give  me  a  vacation,  with 
pay,  until  next  fall,  and  even  longer  if  I  felt  that  I  needed 
it,  you  may  be  sure  I  didn't  refuse  their  kind  offer.  I 

132 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

thanked  them  and  said  yes  before  they  could  have  changed 
their  minds,  even  if  they  had  wished  to.  They  said  I 
should  go  into  the  country.  That  was  just  where  I 
wanted  to  go,  and  so  here  I  am,  in  the  country.  Aren't 
you  glad?" 

"Glad!  Don't  talk!  But,  Emily,  if  you  ain't  well, 
don't  you  think " 

"I  am  well.  Don't  say  another  word  about  that.  And, 
Oh,  the  things  I  mean  to  do  to  help  you,  Aunt  Thankful !" 

"Help  me!  Indeed  you  won't!  You'll  rest  and  get 
strong  again,  that's  what  you'll  do.  I  don't  need  any 
help." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do.    I  know  it." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

For  just  an  instant  Emily  glanced  at  Captain  Bangs. 
The  captain's  face  expressed  alarm  and  embarrassment. 
He  was  standing  where  Mrs.  Barnes  could  not  see  him 
and  he  shook  his  head  warningly.  Miss  Howes'  eyes 
twinkled,  but  she  did  not  smile. 

"Oh,  I  knew!"  she  repeated. 

"But  how  did  you  know?  /  never  wrote  you  such  a 
thing,  sartin." 

"Of  course  you  didn't.  But  I  knew  because — well,  just 
because.  Everyone  who  takes  boarders  needs  help.  It's 
a — it's  a  chronic  condition.  Now,  Auntie,  don't  you  think 
you  could  find  some  supper  for  me?  Not  much,  but  just 
a  little.  For  an  invalid  ordered  to  the  country  I  am 
awfully  hungry." 

That  was  enough  for  Thankful.  She  seized  her  cousin 
by  the  arm  and  hurried  her  into  the  dining-room.  A  few 
moments  later  she  reappeared  to  order  Miss  Howes' 
trunk  carried  upstairs  to  the  "blue  room." 

"You'll  have  to  excuse  me,  folks,"  she  said,  addressing 
her  guests.  "I  know  I  didn't  introduce  you  to  Emily.  I 

133 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

was  so  flustered  and — and  tickled  to  see  her  that  I  for 
got  everything,  manners  and  all.  Soon's  she's  had  a  bite 
to  eat  I'll  try  to  make  up.  You'll  forgive  me,  won't  you  ?" 

When  she  had  gone  Captain  Obed  was  bombarded 
with  questions.  Who  was  the  young  lady?  Where  did 
she  come  from?  If  she  was  only  a  cousin,  why  did  she 
call  Mrs.  Barnes  "Auntie"?  And  many  others. 

Captain  Obed  answered  as  best  he  could. 

"She's  real  pretty,  isn't  she,"  affirmed  Miss  Timpson. 
"I  don't  know  when  I've  seen  a  prettier  woman.  Such 
eyes!  And  such  hair!  Ah  hum!  When  I  was  her  age 
folks  used  to  tell  me  I  had  real  wonderful  hair.  You 
remember  that,  don't  you,  Mr.  Hammond  ?" 

Mr.  Hammond  chuckled.  "I  remember  lots  of  things," 
he  observed  diplomatically. 

"You  think  she's  pretty,  don't  you,  Mr.  Daniels  ?"  per 
sisted  Miss  Timpson. 

East  Wellmouth's  legal  light  bowed  assent.  "A — ahem 
— a  very  striking  young  lady,"  he  said  with  dignity.  He 
had  scarcely  taken  his  eyes  from  the  newcomer  while 
she  was  in  the  room.  John  Kendrick  said  nothing. 

When  Emily  and  Thankful  returned  to  the  living-room 
there  were  introductions  and  handshakings.  And,  follow 
ing  these,  a  general  conversation  lasting  until  ten  o'clock. 
Then  Miss  Howes  excused  herself,  saying  that  she  was  a 
bit  tired,  bade  them  all  good  night  and  went  to  her  room. 

Captain  Obed  left  soon  afterward. 

"Well,  John,"  he  said  to  his  friend,  as  they  stood  to 
gether  on  the  front  step,  "what  do  you  think  of  this  for 
a  boardin'-house ?  All  I  prophesied,  ain't  it?" 

Kendrick  nodded.  "All  that,  and  more,"  he  answered, 
emphatically. 

"Like  Mrs.  Barnes,  don't  you?" 

"Very  much.    No  one  could  help  liking  her." 

134 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Um-hm.  Well,  I  told  you  that,  too.  And  her  niece — 
cousin,  I  mean — is  just  as  nice  as  she  is.  You'll  like  her, 
too,  when  you  know  her.  .  .  .  Eh?" 

"I  didn't  speak,  Captain." 

"Oh,  didn't  you?  Well,  it's  high  time  for  me  to  be 
headin'  for  home.  Hannah'll  be  soundin'  the  foghorn 
for  me  pretty  soon.  She'll  think  I've  been  tagged  by 
Abbie  Larkin  if  I  don't  hurry  up  and  report.  See  you 
in  the  mornin',  John.  Good  night." 

The  next  forenoon  he  was  on  hand,  bright  and  early, 
and  he  and  Kendrick  went  over  to  the  village  on  another 
tour  of  inspection.  Captain  Obed  was  extremely  curious 
to  know  whether  or  not  his  friend  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  remain  in  East  Wellmouth,  but,  as  the  young  man 
himself  did  not  volunteer  the  information,  the  captain 
asked  no  questions.  They  walked  up  and  down  the  main 
road  until  dinner  time.  John  said  very  little,  and  was 
evidently  thinking  hard.  Just  before  twelve  Captain 
Bangs  did  ask  a  question,  his  first  one. 

"Well,  John,"  he  said,  looking  up  at  the  clock  in  the 
steeple  of  the  Methodist  Church,  "it's  about  time  for  us 
to  be  thinkin'  about  takin'  in  cargo.  Where  shall  we  eat 
this  noon?  At  the  High  Cliff  again,  or  do  you  want  to 
tackle  Darius  Holt's?  Course  you  understand  I'm  game 
for  'most  anything  if  you  say  so,  and  'most  anything's 
what  we're  liable  to  get  at  that  Holt  shebang.  I  don't 
want  you  to  think  I've  got  any  personal  grudge.  When 
it  comes  to  that  I'm — ho!  ho! — well,  I'm  a  good  deal  in 
the  frame  of  mind  Kenelm  Parker  was  at  the  revival 
meetin'  some  year  ago.  Kenelm  just  happened  in  and 
took  one  of  the  back  seats.  The  minister — he  was  a 
stranger  in  town — was  walkin'  up  and  down  the  aisles 
tryin'  to  influence  the  mourners  to  come  forward.  He 
crept  up  on  Kenelm  from  behind,  when  he  wa'n't  ex- 

135 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

pected,  and  says  he,  'Brother,'  he  says,  'do  you  love  the 
Lord  ?'  Kenelm  was  some  took  by  surprise  and  his  wits 

was  in  the  next  county,  I  cal'late.  'Why — why '  he 

stammers.  'I  ain't  got  nothin'  agin'  Him.'  Ho!  ho! 
That's  the  way  I  feel  about  Darius  Holt.  I  don't  love 
his  hotel,  but  I  ain't  got  nothin'  ag'in'  him.  What  do 
you  say?" 

Kendrick  hesitated. 

"The  Holt  board  is  cheaper,  isn't  it?"  he  asked. 

"Yup.    It  costs  less  and  it's  wuth  it." 

"Humph !  Well — well,  I  guess  we  may  as  well  go  back 
to  the  High  Cliff  House." 

Captain  Obed  was  much  surprised,  but  he  said  nothing. 

At  dinner  there  was  a  sprightly  air  of  cheerfulness  and 
desire  to  please  among  the  boarders.  Everyone  talked  a 
good  deal  and  most  of  the  remarks  were  addressed  to 
Miss  Howes,  who  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  table,  opposite 
her  cousin.  Thankful  noticed  the  change  and  marveled 
at  it.  Dinners  had  hitherto  been  rather  hurried  and  silent 
affairs.  Miss  Timpson  usually  rushed  through  the  meal 
in  order  to  get  back  to  her  school.  Mr.  Daniels'  habit 
was  to  fidget  when  Imogene  delayed  serving  a  course,  to 
look  at  his  watch  and  hint  concerning  important  legal 
business  which  needed  prompt  attention.  Caleb  Ham 
mond's  conversation  too  often  was  confined  to  a  range 
bordered  by  rheumatism  on  the  one  hand  and  bronchitis 
on  the  other. 

Now  all  this  was  changed.  No  one  seemed  in  a  hurry, 
no  one  appeared  to  care  what  the  time  might  be,  and  no 
one  grumbled.  Mr.  Daniels  was  particularly  affable  and 
gracious;  he  even  condescended  to  joke.  He  was  wear 
ing  his  best  and  newest  suit  and  his  tie  was  carefully 
arranged.  Emily  was  in  high  spirits,  laughed  at  the  jokes, 
whether  they  were  new  or  old,  and  seemed  to  be  very 

136 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

happy.  She  had  been  for  a  walk  along  the  bluff,  and  the 
sea  breeze  had  crimsoned  her  cheeks  and  blown  her  hair 
about.  She  apologized  for  the  disarrangement  of  the 
hair,  but  even  Miss  Timpson — her  own  tresses  as  smooth 
as  the  back  of  a  haircloth  sofa — declared  the  effect  to  be 
"real  becomin'."  Heman  Daniels,  who,  being  a  bachelor, 
was  reported  to  be  very  particular  in  such  matters,  heart 
ily  concurred  in  this  statement.  Mr.  Hammond  said  it 
reminded  him  some  of  Laviny  Marthy's  hair.  "Laviny 
Marthy  was  my  wife  that  was,"  he  added,  by  way  of 
explanation.  John  Kendrick  said  very  little ;  in  fact,  he 
was  noticeably  silent  during  dinner.  Miss  Timpson  said 
afterward :  "That  Mr.  Kendrick  isn't  much  of  a  talker, 
is  he?  I  guess  he's  what  they  call  a  good  listener,  for 
he  seemed  to  be  real  interested,  especially  when  Miss 
Howes  was  talkin'.  He'd  look  at  her  and  look  at  her,  and 
time  and  time  again  I  thought  he  was  goin'  to  say  some- 
thin',  but  he  didn't." 

He  was  not  talkative  when  alone  with  Captain  Obed 
that  afternoon.  They  paid  one  more  visit  to  the  building 
"opposite  the  postofHce"  and  while  there  he  asked  a  few 
questions  concerning  the  rent.  The  figure  named  by  the 
captain  was  a  low  one  and  John  seemed  to  think  it  too 
low.  "I'm  not  asking  charity,"  he  declared.  "At  least 
you  might  charge  me  enough  to  pay  for  the  paint  I  may 
rub  off  when  I  open  the  door." 

But  Captain  Obed  obstinately  refused  to  raise  his  fig 
ure.  "I've  charged  enough  to  risk  what  paint  there  is," 
he  announced.  "If  I  charged  more  I'd  feel  as  if  I  had 
to  paint  fresh,  and  I  don't  want  to  do  that.  What's  the 
matter  with  you,  John?  Want  to  heave  your  money 
away,  do  you  ?  Better  keep  the  odd  change  to  buy  cigars. 
You  can  heave  them  away,  if  you  want  to — and  you 
won't  be  liable  to  hit  many  lawyers  neither." 

137 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

At  supper  time  as  they  stood  by  the  gate  of  the  High 
Cliff  House  the  captain,  who  was  to  eat  at  his  regular 
boarding-place,  the  Parkers',  that  evening,  ventured  to 
ask  the  question  he  had  been  so  anxious  to  ask. 

"Well,  John?"  he  began. 

"Well,  Captain?" 

"Have  you — have  you  made  up  your  mind  yet  ?" 

Kendrick  turned  over,  with  his  foot,  a  stone  in  the 
path. 

"I "  he  paused  and  turned  the  stone  back  again. 

Then  he  drew  a  long  breath.  "I  must  make  it  up,"  he 
said,  "and  I  can  do  it  as  well  now  as  a  week  later,  I  sup 
pose.  Wherever  I  go  there  will  be  a  risk,  a  big  risk. 
Captain  Bangs,  I'll  take  that  risk  here.  If  you  are  willing 
to  let  me  have  that  office  of  yours  for  six  months  at  the 
figure  you  have  named — and  I  think  you  are  crazy  to  do 
it — I  will  send  for  my  trunk  and  my  furniture  and  begin 
to — look  out  of  the  window." 

Captain  Obed  was  delighted.  "Shake,  John,"  he  ex 
claimed.  "I'm  tickled  to  death.  And  I'll  tell  you  this: 
If  you  can't  get  a  client  no  other  way  I'll — I'll  break  into 
the  meetin'-house  and  steal  a  pew  or  somethin'.  Then 
you  can  defend  me.  Eh  .  .  .  And  now  what  about  a 
place  for  you  to  eat  and  sleep?"  he  added,  after  a  mo 
ment. 

The  young  man  seemed  to  find  the  question  as  hard  to 
answer  as  the  other. 

"I  like  it  here,"  he  admitted.  "I  like  it  very  much 
indeed.  But  I  must  economize  and  the  few  hundred  dol 
lars  I  have  scraped  together  won't " 

He  was  interrupted.  Emily  Howes  appeared  at  the 
corner  of  the  house  behind  them. 

"Supper  is  ready,"  she  called  cheerfully. 

Both  men  turned  to  look  at  her.  She  was  bareheaded 

138 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

and  the  western  sun  made  her  profile  a  dainty  silhouette 
a  silhouette  framed  in  the  spun  gold  of  her  hair. 

"John's  comin',  Miss  Emily,"  answered  the  captain. 
"He'll  be  right  there." 

Emily  waved  her  hand  and  hurried  back  to  the  dining- 
room  door.  Mr.  Kendrick  kicked  the  stone  into  the  grass. 

"I  think  I  may  as  well  remain  here,  for  the  present  at 
least,"  he  said.  "After  all,  there  is  such  a  thing  as  being 
too  economical.  A  chap  can't  always  make  a  martyr  of 
himself,  even  if  he  knows  he  should." 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Barnes,  over  at  the  village  on 
a  marketing  expedition,  met  Captain  Bangs  on  his  way  to 
the  postoffice. 

"Oh,  Cap'n,"  she  said,  "I've  got  somethin'  to  tell  you. 
'Tain't  bad  news  this  time;  it's  good.  Mr.  Heman 
Daniels  has  changed  his  mind.  He's  goin'  to  keep  his 
room  and  board  with  me  just  as  he's  been  doin'.  Isn't 
that  splendid!" 

The  sewing  circles  and  the  club  and  the  noon  and 
evening  groups  at  the  postoffke  had  two  new  subjects  for 
verbal  dissection  during  the  next  fortnight.  This  was,  in 
its  way,  a  sort  of  special  Providence,  for  this  was  the  dull 
season,  when  there  were  no  more  wrecks  alongshore  or 
schooners  aground  on  the  bars,  and  the  boarders  and  cot 
tagers  from  the  cities  had  not  yet  come  to  East  Well- 
mouth.  Also  the  opening  of  the  High  Cliff  House  was 
getting  to  be  a  worn-out  topic.  So  Emily  Howes,  her 
appearance  and  behavior,  and  John  Kendrick,  his  be 
havior  and  his  astonishing  recklessness  in  attempting  to 
wrest  a  portion  of  the  county  law  practice  from  Heman 
Daniels,  were  welcomed  as  dispensations  and  discussed 
with  gusto. 

Emily  came  through  the  gossip  mill  ground  fine,  but 
with  surprisingly  little  chaff.  She  was  "pretty  as  a  pic- 

139 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

ture,"  all  the  males  agreed  upon  that  point.  And  even 
the  females  admitted  that  she  was  "kind  of  good-lookin'," 
although  Hannah  Parker's  diagnosis  that  she  was  "de 
clined  to  be  consumptic"  and  Mrs.  Larkin's  that  she  was 
older  than  she  "made  out  to  be,"  had  some  adherents. 
All  agreed,  however,  that  she  knew  how  to  run  a  board 
ing-house  and  that  she  was  destined  to  be  the  "salvation" 
of  Thankful  Barnes'  venture  at  the  Cap'n  Abner  place. 

Certainly  she  did  prove  herself  to  possess  marked  abil 
ity  as  a  business  manager.  Quietly,  and  without  undue 
assertion,  she  reorganized  the  affairs  of  the  High  Cliff 
House.  No  one  detected  any  difference  in  the  quality 
of  the  meals  served  there,  in  their  variety  or  ample 
sufficiency.  But,  little  by  little,  she  took  upon  herself 
the  buying  of  supplies,  the  regulation  of  accounts,  the 
prompt  payment  of  bills  and  the  equally  prompt  collec 
tion  of  board  and  room  rent.  Thankful  found  the  cares 
upon  her  shoulders  less  and  less  heavy,  and  she  was  more 
free  to  do  what  she  was  so  capable  of  doing,  that  is, 
superintend  the  cooking  and  the  housekeeping. 

But  Thankful  herself  was  puzzled. 

"I  don't  understand  it,"  she  said.  "I've  always  had  to 
look  out  for  myself,  and  others,  too.  There  ain't  been  a 
minute  since  I  can  remember  that  I  ain't  had  somebody 
dependent  upon  me.  I  cal'lated  I  could  run  a  boardin'- 
house  if  I  couldn't  do  anything  else.  But  I'm  just  as 
sure  as  I  am  that  I'm  alive  that  if  you  hadn't  come  when 
you  did  I'd  have  run  this  one  into  the  ground  and  myself 
into  the  poorhouse.  I  don't  understand  it." 

Emily  smiled  and  put  her  arm  about  her  cousin's  waist. 
"Oh,  no,  you  wouldn't,  Auntie,"  she  said.  "It  wasn't  as 
bad  as  that.  You  needed  help,  that  was  all.  And  you 
are  too  generous  and  kind-hearted.  You  were  always 
fearful  that  your  boarders  might  not  be  satisfied.  I  have 

140 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

been  teaching  bookkeeping  and  accounting,  you  see,  and, 
besides,  I  have  lived  in  a  family  where  the  principal 
struggle  was  to  satisfy  the  butcher  and  the  baker  and  the 
candlestick  maker.  This  is  real  fun  compared  to  that.*7 

Thankful  shook  her  head. 

"I  know,"  she  said ;  "you  always  talk  that  way,  Emily, 
But  I'm  afraid  you'll  make  yourself  sick.  You  come 
down  here  purpose  for  your  health,  you  know." 

Emily  laughed  and  patted  Mrs.  Barnes'  plump  shoul 
der. 

"Health !"  she  repeated.  "Why,  I  have  never  been  as 
well  since  I  can  remember.  I  couldn't  be  sick  here,  in 
this  wonderful  place,  if  I  tried.  Do  you  think  I  look 
ill?  ...  Oh,  Mr.  Daniels!"  addressing  the  lawyer,  who 
had  just  entered  the  dining-room,  "I  want  your  opinion, 
as  a — a  specialist.  Auntie  is  afraid  I  am  ill.  Don't  you 
think  I  look  about  as  well  as  anyone  could  look?" 

Heman  bowed.  "If  my  poor  opinion  is  worth  any 
thing,"  he  observed,  "I  should  say  that  to  find  fault  with 
your  appearance,  Miss  Howes,  would  be  like  venturing  to 
— er — paint  the  lily,  as  the  saying  is.  I  might  say  more, 
but — ahem — perhaps  I  had  better  not." 

Judging  by  the  young  lady's  expression  he  had  said 
quite  enough  already. 

"Idiot!"  she  exclaimed,  after  he  had  left  the  room. 
"I  ask  him  a  sensible  question  and  he  thinks  it  necessary 
to  answer  with  a  silly  compliment.  Thought  I  was  fish 
ing  for  one,  probably.  Why  will  men  be  such  fools — 
some  men?" 

Mr.  Daniels'  opinion  concerning  his  professional  rival 
was  asked  a  good  many  times  during  that  first  fortnight. 
He  treated  the  subject  as  he  did  the  rival,  with  conde 
scending  toleration.  It  was  quite  plain  that  he  consid 
ered  his  own  position  too  secure  to  be  shaken.  In  fact, 

141 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

his  feeling  toward  John  Kendrick  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of 
kindly  pity. 

"He  appears  to  be  a  very  well-meaning  young  man," 
he  said,  in  reply  to  one  of  the  questions.  "Rash,  of 
course;  very  young  men  are  likely  to  be  rash — and  per 
haps  more  hopeful  than  some  of  us  older  and — ahem — 
wiser  persons  might  be  under  the  same  circumstances. 
But  he  is  well-meaning  and  persevering.  I  have  no  doubt 
he  will  manage  to  pick  up  a  few  crumbs,  here  and  there. 
I  may  be  able  to  throw  a  few  in  his  way.  There  are 
always  cases — ah — which  I  can't — or  don't  wish  to — 
accept." 

When  this  remark  was  repeated  to  Captain  Obed  the 
latter  sniffed. 

"Humph !"  he  observed,  "I  don't  know  what  they  are. 
I  never  see  a  case  Heman  wouldn't  accept,  if  there  was 
as  much  as  seventy-five  cents  in  it.  If  bananas  was  a 
nickel  a  bunch  the  only  part  he'd  throw  in  anybody  else's 
way  would  be  the  skins." 

John,  himself,  did  not  seem  to  mind  or  care  what  Mr. 
Daniels  or  anyone  else  said.  He  wrote  a  letter  to  New 
York  and,  in  the  course  of  time,  a  second-hand  desk,  a 
few  chairs,  and  half  a  dozen  cases  of  law  books  arrived 
by  freight  and  were  installed  in  the  ex-barber-shop.  The 
local  sign-painter  perpetrated  a  sign  with  "John  Ken 
drick,  Attorney-at-law"  upon  it  in  gilt  letters,  and  the 
"looking  out  of  the  window"  really  began. 

And  that  was  about  all  that  did  begin  for  days  and 
days.  Each  morning  or  afternoon,  Sundays  excepted, 
Captain  Bangs  would  drop  in  at  the  office  and  find  no  one 
there,  no  one  but  the  tenant,  that  is.  The  latter,  seated 
behind  the  desk,  with  a  big  sheepskin-bound  volume 
spread  open  upon  it,  was  always  glad  to  see  his  visitor. 
Their  conversations  were  characteristic. 

142 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Hello,  John!"  the  captain  would  begin.  "How  are 
the  clients  comin'?" 

"Don't  know,  Captain.  None  of  them  has  as  yet  got 
near  enough  so  that  I  could  see  how  he  comes." 

"Humph !  I  want  to  know.  Mr.  John  D.  Jacob  Van- 
derbilt  ain't  cruised  in  from  Newport  to  put  his  affairs 
in  your  hands?  Sho'!  He's  pretty  short-sighted,  ain't 
he?" 

"Very.    He's  losing  valuable  time." 

"Well,  I  expected  better  things  of  him,  I  must  say. 
Ain't  gettin'  discouraged,  are  you,  John  ?" 

"No,  indeed.  If  there  was  much  discouragement  in 
my  make-up  I  should  have  stopped  before  I  began.  How 
is  the  fish  business,  Captain  ?" 

"Well,  'tain't  what  it  ought  to  be  this  season  of  the 
year.  Say,  John,  couldn't  you  subpoena  a  school  of  mack 
erel  for  me?  Serve  an  order  of  the  court  on  them  to 
come  into  my  weirs  and  answer  for  their  sins,  or  some- 
thin'  like  that?  I'd  be  willin'  to  pay  you  a  fairly  good 
fee." 

On  one  occasion  the  visitor  asked  his  friend  what  he 
found  to  do  all  the  long  days.  "Don't  study  law  all  the 
time,  do  you,  John  ?"  he  queried. 

Kendrick  shook  his  head.  "No,"  he  answered,  gravely. 
"Between  studies  I  enjoy  the  view.  Magnificent  view 
from  this  window,  don't  you  think?" 

Captain  Obed  inspected  the  "view."  The  principal 
feature  in  the  landscape  was  Dr.  Jameson's  cow,  pastured 
in  the  vacant  lot  between  the  doctor's  home  and  the  post- 
office. 

"Very  fine  cow,  that,"  commented  the  lawyer.  "An 
inspiring  creature.  I  spend  hours  looking  at  that  cow. 
She  is  a  comfort  to  my  philosophic  soul." 

The  captain  observed  that  he  wanted  to  know. 
143 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Yes,"  continued  Kendrick.  "She  is  happy;  you  can 
see  that  she  is  happy.  Now  why?" 

"  'Cause  she's  eatin'  grass,"  declared  Captain  Obed, 
promptly. 

"That's  it.  Good  for  you !  You  have  a  philosophic  soul 
yourself,  Captain.  She  is  happy  because  she  has  nothing 
to  do  but  eat,  and  there  is  plenty  to  eat.  That's  my  case 
exactly.  I  have  nothing  to  do  except  eat,  and  at  Mrs. 
Barnes'  boarding-house  there  is  always  enough,  and  more 
than  enough,  to  eat.  The  cow  is  happy  and  I  ought  to 
be,  I  suppose.  If  my  food  was  furnished  free  of  cost  I 
should  be,  I  presume." 

Kenelm  Parker  heard  a  conversation  like  the  foregoing 
on  one  occasion  and  left  the  office  rubbing  his  forehead. 

"There's  two  lunatics  in  that  place,"  he  told  the  post 
master.  "And  if  I'd  stayed  there  much  longer  and 
listened  to  their  ravin's  there'd  have  been  another  one." 

Kenelm  seemed  unusually  contented  and  happy  in  his 
capacity  as  man-of-all-work  at  the  High  Cliff  House. 
Possibly  the  fact  that  there  was  so  very  little  real  work 
to  do  may  have  helped  to  keep  him  in  this  frame  of  mind. 
He  had  always  the  appearance  of  being  very  busy ;  a  rake 
or  a  hoe  or  the  kindling  hatchet  were  seldom  out  of  reach 
of  his  hand.  He  talked  a  great  deal  about  being  "beat 
out,"  and  of  the  care  and  responsibility  which  were  his. 
Most  of  these  remarks  were  addressed  to  Imogene,  to 
whom  he  had  apparently  taken  a  great  fancy. 

Imogene  was  divided  in  her  feelings  toward  Mr. 
Parker. 

"He's  an  awful  interestin'  talker,"  she  confided  to 
Emily.  "Every  time  he  comes  into  this  kitchen  I  have 
to  watch  out  or  he'll  stay  and  talk  till  noontime.  And 
yet  if  I  want  to  get  him  to  do  somethin'  or  other  he 
is  always  chock  full  of  business  that  can't  wait  a  minute. 

144 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

I  like  to  hear  him  talk — he's  got  ideas  on  'most  every 
kind  of  thing — but  /  have  to  work,  myself." 

"Do  you  mean  that  he  doesn't  work?"  asked  Emily. 

"I  don't  know  whether  he  does  or  not.  I  can't  make 
out.  If  he  don't  he's  an  awful  good  make-believe,  that's 
all  I've  got  to  say.  One  time  I  caught  him  back  of  the 
woodpile  sound  asleep,  but  he  was  hanging  onto  the  axe 
just  the  same.  Said  he  set  up  half  the  night  before 
worryin'  for  fear  he  mightn't  be  able  to  get  through  his 
next  day's  work,  and  the  want  of  rest  had  been  too  much 
for  him.  Then  he  started  in  to  tell  me  about  his  home 
life  and  I  listened  for  ten  minutes  before  I  come  to 
enough  to  get  back  to  the  house." 

"Do  you  think  he  is  lazy,  Imogene?" 

"I  don't  know.  He  says  he  never  had  no  chance  and 
it  might  be  that's  so.  He  says  the  ambition's  been  pretty 
well  drove  out  of  him,  and  I  guess  it  has.  I  should  think 
'twould  be.  The  way  that  sister  of  his  nags  at  him  all 
the  time  is  enough  to  drive  out  the — the  measles." 

Imogene  and  Hannah  Parker,  as  Captain  Obed  said, 
"rubbed  each  other  the  wrong  way."  Hannah  was  con 
tinually  calling  to  see  her  brother,  probably  to  make  sure 
that  he  was  there  and  not  in  the  dangerous  Larkin  neigh 
borhood.  Imogene  resented  these  visits — "usin'  up  Mrs. 
Thankful's  time,"  she  said  they  were — and  she  and  Han 
nah  had  some  amusing  clashes.  Miss  Parker  was  inclined 
to  patronize  the  girl  from  the  Orphan's  Home,  and  Imo 
gene  objected. 

"Well,"  observed  Hannah,  on  one  occasion,  "I  pre 
sume  likely  you  find  it  nice  to  be  down  here,  where  folks 
are  folks  and  not  just  'inmates/  It  must  be  dreadful  to 
be  an  'inmate.' " 

Imogene  sniffed.  "There's  all  kinds  of  inmates,"  she 
said,  "same  as  there's  all  kinds  of  folks.  Far's  that  goes, 

145 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

there's  some  folks  couldn't  be  an  inmate,  if  they  wanted 
to.  They  wouldn't  be  let  in." 

"Oh,  is  that  so  ?  Judgin'  by  what  I've  seen  I  shouldn't 
have  thought  them  that  run  such  places  was  very  par 
ticular.  Where's  Kenelm?" 

"I  don't  know.  He's  to  work,  I  suppose.  That's  what 
he's  hired  for,  they  tell  me." 

"Oh,  indeed !  Well,"  with  emphasis,  "he  doesn't  have 
to  work,  unless  he  wants  to.  My  brother  has  money  of 
his  own,  enough  to  subside  on  comf'tably,  if  he  wanted 
to  do  it.  His  comin'  here  is  just  to  accommodate  Mrs. 
Barnes,  that's  all.  Where  is  he?" 

"Last  I  saw  of  him  he  was  accommodatin'  the  horse 
stall.  He  may  be  uptown  by  this  time,  for  all  I  know." 

"Uptown?"  in  alarm.  "What  would  he  be  uptown 
for?  He  ain't  got  any  business  there,  has  he?" 

"Search  me.  Good  many  guys — folks,  I  mean — seem 
to  be  always  hangin'  'round  where  they  haven't  business. 
Well,  I've  got  some  of  my  own  and  I  guess  I'd  better 
attend  to  it.  Good  mornin',  ma'am." 

Miss  Howes  cautioned  Imogene  against  arousing  the 
Parkers'  enmity. 

"Lordy !  I  mean  mercy  sakes,  ma'am,"  exclaimed  Imo 
gene,  "you  needn't  be  afraid  so  far  as  Kenelm's  con 
cerned.  I  do  boss  him  around  some,  when  I  think  it's 
needful,  but  it  ain't  my  bossin'  that  worries  him,  it's  that 
Hannah  woman's.  He  says  she's  at  him  all  the  time. 
Don't  give  him  the  peace  of  his  life,  he  says.  He's  a 
misunderstood  man,  he  tells  me.  Maybe  he  is ;  there  are 
such,  you  know.  I've  read  about  'em  in  stories." 

Emily  smiled.  "Well,"  she  said,  "I  wouldn't  drive  him 
too  hard,  if  I  were  you,  Imogene.  He  isn't  the  hardest 
worker  in  the  world,  but  he  does  do  some  work,  and  men 
who  can  be  hired  to  work  about  a  place  in  summer  are 

146 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

scarce  here  in  East  Wellmouth.  You  must  be  patient 
with  him." 

"Lor — land  sakes !  I  am.  But  he  does  make  me  cross. 
He'd  be  settin'  in  my  kitchen  every  evenin'  if  I'd  let  him. 
Don't  seem  to  want  to  go  home.  I  don't  know's  I  blame 
him  for  that.  You  think  I  ought  to  let  him  set,  I  sup 
pose,  Miss  Howes?" 

"Why,  yes,  if  he  doesn't  annoy  you  too  much.  We 
must  keep  him  contented.  You  must  sacrifice  your  own 
feelings  to  help  Aunt  Thankful.  You  would  be  willing 
to  make  some  sacrifice  for  her,  wouldn't  you?" 

"You  bet  your  life  I  would !  She's  the  best  woman  on 
earth,  Mrs.  Barnes  is.  I'd  do  anything  for  her,  sacrifice 
my  head,  if  that  was  worth  five  cents  to  anybody.  All 
right,  he  can  set  if  he  wants  to.  I — I  suppose  I  might 
improve  his  mind,  hey,  ma'am?  By  readin'  to  him,  I 
mean.  Mrs.  Thankful,  she's  been  givin'  me  books  to 
improve  my  mind ;  perhaps  they'd  improve  his  if  I  read 
'em  out  loud  to  him.  His  sister  prob'ly  won't  like  it,  but 
I  don't  care.  You  couldn't  improve  her  mind ;  she  ain't 
got  any.  It  all  run  off  the  end  of  her  tongue  long  ago." 

By  the  Fourth  of  July  the  High  Cliff  House  was  filled 
with  boarders.  Every  room  was  taken,  even  the  little 
back  bedroom  and  the  big  room  adjoining  it.  These  were 
taken  by  a  young  couple  from  Worcester  and,  if  they 
heard  any  unusual  noises  in  their  apartment,  they  did  not 
mention  them.  Thankful's  dread  of  that  little  room  had 
entirely  disappeared.  She  was  now  thoroughly  convinced 
that  her  imagination  and  the  storm  were  responsible  for 
the  "spooks." 

John  Kendrick  continued  to  sleep  and  eat  at  the  new 
boarding-house.  He  was  a  general  favorite  there,  al 
though  rather  silent  and  disinclined  to  take  an  active 
part  in  the  conversation  at  table.  He  talked  more  with 

147 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Emily  Howes  than  with  anyone  and  she  and  he  were 
becoming  very  friendly.  Emily,  Thankful  and  Captain 
Obed  Bangs  were  the  only  real  friends  the  young  man 
had;  he  might  have  had  more,  but  he  did  not  seem  to 
care  for  them.  With  these  three,  however,  and  particu 
larly  with  Emily,  he  was  even  confidential,  speaking  of 
his  professional  affairs  and  prospects,  subjects  which  he 
never  mentioned  to  others. 

These — the  prospects — were  brighter  than  at  first.  He 
had  accepted  one  case  and  refused  another.  The  refusal 
came  as  a  surprise  to  East  Wellmouth  and  caused  much 
comment.  Mr.  Chris  Badger  was  a  passenger  on  the 
train  from  Boston  and  that  train  ran  off  the  track  at 
Buzzard's  Bay.  No  one  was  seriously  hurt  except  Mr. 
Badger.  The  latter  gentleman  purchased  a  pair  of 
crutches  and  limped  about  on  them,  proclaiming  himself 
a  cripple  for  life.  He  and  Heman  Daniels  had  had  a 
disagreement  over  a  business  matter  so  Chris  took  his 
damage  suit  against  the  railroad  to  John  Kendrick.  And 
John  refused  it. 

Captain  Obed,  much  disturbed,  questioned  his  friend. 

"Land  of  love,  John!"  he  said.  "Here  you've  been 
roostin'  here,  lookin'  out  of  this  window  and  prayin'  for 
a  job  to  come  along.  Now  one  does  come  along  and  you 
turn  it  down.  Why?" 

Kendrick  laughed.  "I'm  cursed  with  a  strong  sense 
of  contrast,  Captain,"  he  replied.  "Those  crutches  are 
too  straight  for  me." 

The  captain  stared.  "Straight!"  he  repeated.  "All 
crutches  are  straight,  ain't  they?" 

"Possibly;  but  some  cripples  are  crooked." 

So  it  was  to  Mr.  Daniels,  after  all,  that  the  damage 
suit  came,  and  Heman  brought  about  a  three-hundred- 
dollar  settlement.  Most  of  East  Wellmouth  pronounced 

148 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Kendrick  "too  pesky  particular,"  but  in  some  quarters, 
and  these  not  by  any  means  the  least  influential,  his  atti 
tude  gained  approval  and  respect.  This  feeling  was 
strengthened  by  his  taking  Edgar  Wingate's  suit  against 
that  same  railroad.  Edgar's  woodlot  was  set  on  fire  by 
sparks  from  the  locomotive  and  John  forced  payment, 
and  liberal  payment,  for  the  damage.  Other  cases,  small 
ones,  began  to  come  his  way.  Lawyer  Daniels  had  ene 
mies  in  the  community  who  had  been  waiting  to  take 
their  legal  affairs  elsewhere. 

Heman  still  professed  entire  indifference,  but  he  no 
longer  patronized  his  rival.  John  had  a  quiet  way  of 
squelching  such  patronage  and  of  turning  the  laugh, 
which  was  annoying  to  a  person  lacking  a  sense  of  humor. 
And  then,  too,  it  was  quite  evident  that  Emily  Howes'  lik 
ing  for  the  younger  man  displeased  Daniels  greatly. 
Heman  liked  Emily,  seemed  to  like  her  very  much  in 
deed.  On  one  or  two  occasions  he  had  taken  her  to  ride 
behind  his  fast  horse,  and  he  often  brought  bouquets  and 
fruit,  "given  me  by  my  clients  and  friends,"  he  ex 
plained.  "One  can't  refuse  little  gifts  like  that,  but  it 
is  a  comfort,  to  a  bachelor  like  me,  to  be  able  to  hand 
them  on — hand  them  on — yes." 

The  first  of  August  brought  a  new  sensation  and  a  new 
resident  to  East  Wellmouth.  The  big  Colfax  estate  was 
sold  and  the  buyer  was  no  less  a  personage  than  E.  Holli- 
day  Kendrick,  John  Kendrick's  aristocratic  Fifth  Avenue 
cousin.  His  coming  was  as  great  a  surprise  to  John  as 
to  the  rest  of  the  community,  but  he  seemed  much  less 
excited  over  it.  The  purchase  was  quietly  completed  and, 
one  pleasant  morning,  the  great  E.  Holliday  himself  ap 
peared  in  East  Wellmouth  accompanied  by  a  wife  and 
child,  two  motor  cars  and  six  servants. 

Captain  Obed  Bangs,  who  had  been  spending  a  week 
149 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

in  Orham  on  business  connected  with  his  fish  weirs,  re 
turned  to  find  the  village  chanting  the  praises  of  the  new 
arrival.  Somehow  or  other  E.  Holliday  had  managed 
already  to  convey  the  impression  that  he  was  the  most 
important  person  in  creation.  The  captain  happening  in 
at  the  High  Cliff  House  after  supper,  found  the  group 
in  the  living-room  discussing  the  all-important  topic. 
Most  of  the  city  boarders  were  out  enjoying  a  "marsh- 
mallow  toast"  about  a  bonfire  on  the  beach,  but  the  "reg 
ulars"  were  present. 

"Where's  Mrs.  Thankful?"  was  Captain  Obed's  first 
question. 

"She's  in  the  kitchen,  I  think,"  replied  John.  "Shall  I 
call  her?" 

"Oh,  no,  no !  It  ain't  particular.  I  just — just  wondered 
where  she  was,  that's  all.  I  wouldn't  trouble  her  on  no 
account." 

John  smiled.  He  seemed  quietly  amused  about  some 
thing.  He  regarded  his  friend,  who,  after  a  glance  in 
his  direction,  was  staring  at  the  lamp  on  the  table,  and 
said: 

"I'm  sure  it  would  be  no  trouble,  Captain.  Better  let 
me  tell  her  you  are  here." 

Captain  Obed  was  saved  the  embarrassment  of  further 
protestations  by  the  entrance  of  Thankful  herself ;  Emily 
accompanied  her.  The  captain  shook  hands  with  Mrs. 
Barnes  and  her  cousin  and  hastened  to  announce  that  he 
heard  "big  news"  down  street  and  had  run  over  to  find 
out  how  much  truth  there  was  in  it. 

"Couldn't  scurcely  believe  it,  myself,"  he  declared. 
"John  here,  never  said  a  word  about  his  high-toned  rela 
tion  comin'  to  East  Wellmouth.  Had  you  any  idea  he 
was  comin',  John?" 

John  shook  his  head. 

150 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"No,"  he  said.  "The  last  time  I  saw  him  in  New 
York,  which  was  two  years  or  more  ago,  he  did  say 
something  about  being  on  the  lookout  for  a  summer  resi 
dence.  But  he  did  not  mention  East  Wellmouth ;  nor  did 
I.  I  remember  hearing  that  he  and  the  late  Mr.  Colfax 
were  quite  friendly,  associated  in  business  affairs,  I  be 
lieve.  Probably  that  accounts  for  his  being  here." 

"Set  down,  everybody,"  urged  Thankful.  "I'm  willin' 
to  set  down,  myself,  I  can  tell  you.  Been  on  my  feet 
'most  of  the  day.  What  sort  of  a  person  is  this  relation 
of  yours,  Mr.  Kendrick?  He  ought  to  be  all  right,  if 
there's  anything  in  family  connections." 

Heman  Daniels  answered  the  question.  He  spoke  with 
authority. 

"Mr.  Holliday  is  a  fine  gentleman,"  he  announced,  em 
phatically.  "I've  seen  him  two  or  three  times  since  he 
came.  He's  a  millionaire,  but  it  doesn't  make  him  pom 
pous  or  stand-offish.  He  and  I  spoke — er — conversed 
together  as  friendly  and  easy  as  if  we  had  known  each 
other  all  our  lives.  He  is  very  much  interested  in  East 
Wellmouth.  He  tells  me  that,  if  the  place  keeps  on  suit 
ing  him  as  it  has  so  far,  he  intends  making  it  his  perma 
nent  home.  Of  course  he  won't  stay  here  all  the  year — 
the  family  have  a  house  in  Florida  and  one  in  New  York, 
I  believe — but  he  will  call  East  Wellmouth  his  real  home 
and  his  interests  will  center  here." 

There  was  a  general  expression  of  satisfaction.  Miss 
Timpson  declared  that  it  was  "real  lovely"  of  Mr.  Holli 
day  Kendrick.  Caleb  Hammond  announced  that  he  al 
ways  cal'lated  there  was  a  boom  coming  for  the  town. 
Had  said  so  more  times  than  he  could  count.  "Folks'll 
tell  you  I  said  it,  too,"  he  proclaimed  stoutly.  "They'll 
bear  me  out  in  it,  if  you  ask  'em.". 

"I'm  glad  we're  goin'  to  have  such  nice  neighbors," 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

said  Thankful.  "It's  always  worried  me  a  little  wonderin' 
who  that  Colfax  place  might  be  sold  to.  I  didn't  know 
but  somebody  might  get  it  with  the  notion  of  startin' 
another  hotel." 

"Hannah  Parker  ain't  opened  her  mouth  to  talk  of  any 
thing  else  since  I  got  back,"  said  Captain  Bangs.  "And 
it's  been  open  most  of  the  time,  too.  She  says  John's 
rich  relation's  locatin'  here  is  a  dissipation  of  Providence, 
if  you  know  what  that  is." 

John  smiled  but  he  said  nothing.  Emily  was  silent, 
also ;  she  was  regarding  the  young  man  intently. 

"Yes,  sir,"  continued  Mr.  Daniels,  evidently  pleased  at 
the  approval  with  which  his  statement  had  been  met. 
"Yes,  sir,  Mr.  E.  Holliday  Kendrick  is  destined  to  be 
a  great  acquisition  to  this  town;  mark  my  words.  He 
tells  me  he  shall  hire  no  one  to  do  his  work  except 
East  Wellmouth  people.  And  there  will  be  a  lot  of 
work  to  be  done,  if  he  carries  out  his  plans.  He  in 
tends  building  an  addition  to  his  house,  and  enlarging 
his  estate " 

Thankful  interrupted. 

"Enlargin'  it!"  she  repeated.  "Mercy  sakes!  What 
for?  I  should  think  'twas  large  enough  now!" 

Heman  smiled  tolerantly.  "To  us — the  ordinary — er — 
citizens,  it  might  appear  so,"  he  observed.  "But  the — 
er — New  York  ideas  is  broader  than  the  average  Cape 
Codder's,  if  you'll  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Barnes.  Mr.  Ken 
drick  has  begun  to  spend  money  here  already,  and  he  will 
doubtless  spend  more.  He  contemplates  public  improve 
ments  as  well  as  private.  He  asked  me  what  sort  of  spirit 
there  was  in  our  community.  Ahem !" 

He  paused,  apparently  to  let  the  importance  of  the  an 
nouncement  sink  in.  It  sank,  or  seemed  to.  Mr.  Ham 
mond,  however,  was  somewhat  puzzled. 

152 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Now  what  do  you  cal'late  he  meant  by  that?"  he 
queried. 

John  Kendrick  answered.  He  and  Emily  had  ex 
changed  smiles.  Neither  of  them  seemed  as  deeply  im 
pressed  with  the  Daniels  proclamation  as  the  others  of 
the  group. 

"Perhaps  he  wanted  to  buy  a  drink,"  suggested  John, 
gravely. 

Miss  Timpson  was  shocked;  her  expression  showed 
it.  Caleb  Hammond  did  not  seem  to  know  whether  to 
be  shocked  or  not;  the  Hammond  appreciation  of  a  joke 
generally  arrived  on  a  later  train.  Mrs.  Barnes  and  Cap 
tain  Obed  laughed,  but  not  too  heartily. 

Mr.  Daniels  did  not  laugh.  The  frivolous  interruption 
evidently  jarred  him. 

"I  scarcely  imagine  that  to  be  the  reason,"  he  said, 
drily.  "If  Mr.  E.  Holliday  Kendrick  does  indulge  I  guess 
likely — that  is,  I  presume  he  would  not  find  it  necessary 
to  buy  his — er — beverages  here.  He  meant  public  spirit, 
of  course.  He  asked  me  who  our  leading  men  were." 

"Who  were  they — the  others,  I  mean?"  asked  John. 

Emily  rubbed  away  a  smile  with  her  handkerchief. 
Heman  noticed  her  action,  and  his  color  brightened. 

"They  were  public,"  he  said,  rather  sharply.  "They 
were  men  of  standing — long  standing  in  the  community. 
Prominent  and  prosperous  citizens,  who  have  lived  here 
long  enough  for  East  Wellmouth  to  know  them — and 
respect  them." 

This  was  a  shot  in  the  bull's  eye.  Miss  Timpson  evi 
dently  thought  so,  for  she  nodded  approval.  Daniels 
continued. 

"They  were  men  of  known  worth,"  he  went  on.  "Prac 
tical  citizens  whose  past  as  well  as  present  is  known. 
Your  cousin — I  believe  he  is  your  cousin,  Kendrick,  al- 

153 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

though  he  did  not  mention  the  relationship — was  grateful 
to  me  for  giving  him  their  names.  He  is  a  practical  man, 
himself." 

John  nodded.  "He  must  be,"  he  admitted.  "No  one 
but  a  practical  man  could  get  all  that  advice,  free,  from  a 
lawyer." 

Captain  Obed  laughed  aloud. 

"That's  a  good  one,"  he  declared.  "Lawyers  ain't  in 
the  habit  of  giinri  much,  'cordin'  to  all  accounts.  How 
about  it,  Heman?" 

Mr.  Daniels  ignored  the  question  and  the  questioner. 
He  rose  to  his  feet. 

"There  are  some  lawyers,"  he  observed,  crisply,  "whose 
advice  is  not  asked — to  any  great  extent.  I — I  think  I 
will  join  the  group  on  the  beach.  It's  a  beautiful  evening. 
Won't  you  accompany  me,  Miss  Howes?" 

Emily  declined  the  invitation.  "No,  thank  you,  Mr. 
Daniels,"  she  said.  "I  am  rather  tired  and  I  think  I 
won't  go  out  tonight.  By  the  way,  Mr.  Kendrick,"  she 
added,  "was  the  great  man  asking  your  advice  also?  I 
happened  to  see  him  go  into  your  office  yesterday." 

Everyone  was  surprised — everyone  except  the  speaker 
and  the  person  addressed,  that  is — but  Heman's  surprise 
was  most  manifest.  His  hand  was  on  the  knob  of  the 
door,  but  now  he  turned. 

"In  his  office?"  he  repeated.  "Kendrick,  was  he  in  to 
see  you?" 

John  bowed  assent.  "Yes,"  he  said.  "He  seems  to  be 
contemplating  retaining  a  sort  of — of  resident  attorney 
to  look  after  his  local  affairs.  I  mentioned  your  name, 
Daniels." 

Mr.  Daniels  went  out.    The  door  banged  behind  him. 

A  half  hour  later,  after  Mr.  Hammond  also  had  gone 
to  join  the  marshmallow  toasters  and  Miss  Timpson  had 

154 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

retired  to  her  room,  John  told  the  others  the  story.  Mr. 
E.  Holliday  Kendrick  had  called  upon  him  at  his  office 
and  he  did  contemplate  engaging  a  resident  lawyer.  There 
were  likely  to  be  many  of  what  he  termed  "minor  details" 
connected  with  the  transfer  of  the  Colfax  estate  to  him 
and  the  purchases  which  he  meant  to  make  later  on,  and 
an  attorney  at  his  beck  and  call  would  be  a  great  con 
venience.  Not  this  only;  he  had  actually  offered  his 
young  cousin  the  position,  had  offered  to  engage  him 
and  to  pay  him  several  hundred  dollars  as  a  retaining 
fee. 

He  told  his  hearers  so  much,  and  then  he  stopped. 
Emily,  who  had  seemed  much  interested,  waited  a  mo 
ment  and  then  begged  him  to  continue. 

"Well?"  she  said.  "Why  don't  you  tell  us  the  rest? 
We  are  all  waiting  to  congratulate  you.  You  accepted, 
of  course." 

John  shook  his  head.  "Why,  no,"  he  replied,  "I  didn't 
accept,  exactly.  I  did  say  I  would  think  it  over ;  but  I — 
well,  I'm  not  sure  that  I  shall  accept." 

Here  was  the  unexpected.  His  hearers  looked  at  each 
other  in  amazement. 

"You  won't  accept !"  cried  Thankful.  "Why,  Mr.  Ken 
drick." 

"Won't  accept!"  shouted  Captain  Obed.  "What  on 
earth!  Why,  John  Kendrick,  what's  the  matter  with 
you  ?  Ain't  you  been  settin'  in  that  office  of  yours  waitin' 
and  waitin'  for  somethin'  worth  while  to  come  along? 
And  now  a  really  big  chance  does  come,  and  you  say  you 
don't  know  as  you'll  take  it!  What  kind  of  talk's  that, 
I'd  like  to  know !" 

John  smiled.  Miss  Howes,  who  seemed  as  much  sur 
prised  as  the  others,  did  not  smile. 

"Why  won't  you  take  it?"  demanded  the  captain. 

155 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  The  proposition  doesn't  appeal  to 
me  as  strongly  as  it  should,  perhaps.  Cousin  Holliday 
and  I  are  cousins,  but  we — well,  we  differ  in  other  ways 
besides  the  size  of  our  incomes.  When  I  was  in  New 
York  I  went  to  him  at  one  time.  I  was — I  needed — well, 
I  went  to  him.  He  consented  to  see  me  and  he  listened 
to  what  I  had  to  say,  but  he  was  not  too  cordial.  He 
didn't  ask  me  to  call  again.  Now  he  seems  changed,  I 
admit.  Remembers  perfectly  well  that  I  am  his  father's 
brother's  only  child  and  all  that,  and  out  of  the  kindness 
of  his  heart  offers  me  employment.  But — but  I  don't 
know." 

No  one  spoke  for  a  moment.  Then  Emily  broke  the 
silence. 

"You  don't  know  ?"  she  repeated,  rather  sharply.  "Why 
not,  may  I  ask?" 

"Oh,  I  don't,  that's  all.  For  one  thing,  there  is  just  a 
little  too  much  condescension  in  my  dear  cousin's  manner. 
I  may  be  a  yellow  dog,  but  I  don't  like  to  sit  up  and  beg 
when  my  master  threatens  to  throw  me  a  bone.  Perhaps 
I'm  particular  as  to  who  that  master  may  be." 

Again  it  was  Emily  who  spoke. 

"Perhaps  you  are — too  particular,"  she  said.  "Can  you 
afford  to  be  so  particular?" 

"Probably  not.  But,  you  see,  there  is  another  thing. 
There  is  a  question  of  professional  ethics  involved.  If 
I  take  that  retainer  I  am  bound  in  honor  to  undertake  any 
case  Cousin  Holliday  may  give  me.  And — and,  I'm  not 
sure  I  should  care  to  do  that.  You  know  how  I  feel 
about  a  lawyer's  duty  to  his  client  and  his  duty  to  him 
self.  There  are  certain  questions " 

She  interrupted. 

"I  think  there  are,  too  many  questions,"  she  said.  "I 
lose  patience  with  you  sometimes.  Often  and  often  I 

156 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

have  known  of  your  refusing  cases  which  other  lawyers 
have  taken  and  won." 

"Meaning  Brother  Daniels  ?"  He  asked  it  with  a  smile, 
but  with  some  sarcasm  in  his  tone.  Both  he  and  Miss 
Howes  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  the  captain  and 
Thankful  were  present. 

"Why,  yes.  Mr.  Daniels  has  accepted  cases  which  you 
have  refused.  No  one  thinks  the  less  of  him  for  it. 
He  will  accept  your  cousin's  retainer  if  you  don't." 

"I  presume  he  will.  That  would  be  the  practical  thing 
to  do,  and  he  prides  himself  on  his  practicality." 

"Practicality  is  not  altogether  bad.  It  is  often  neces 
sary  in  this  practical  world.  What  case  is  Mr.  Kendrick 
likely  to  put  in  your  hands  which  you  would  hesitate  to 
undertake  ?" 

"None  that  I  know  of.    But  if  he  did,  I " 

"You  could  refuse  to  take  it." 

"Why,  not  easily.  I  should  have  accepted  his  retainer 
and  that,  according  to  legal  etiquette,  would  make  me 
honor  bound  to " 

She  interrupted  again.  Her  patience  was  almost  gone, 
that  was  plain.  For  the  matter  of  that,  so  was  Captain 
Obed's. 

"Don't  you  think  that  you  are  a  trifle  too  sensitive  con 
cerning  honor?"  she  asked.  "And  too  suspicious  besides? 
I  do.  Oh,  I  am  tired  of  your  scruples.  I  don't  like  to  see 
you  letting  success  and — and  all  the  rest  of  it  pass  you  by, 
when  other  men,  not  so  overscrupulous,  do  succeed. 
Don't  you  care  for  success  ?  Or  for  money  ?" 

John  interrupted  her.  He  leaned  forward  and  spoke, 
deliberately  but  firmly.  And  he  looked  her  straight  in  the 
face. 

"I  do,"  he  said.  "I  care  for  both — now — more  than  I 
ever  thought  I  could  care." 

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THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

And,  all  at  once,  the  young  lady  seemed  to  remember 
that  her  cousin  and  the  captain  were  in  the  room.  She 
colored,  and  when  she  spoke  it  was  in  a  different  tone. 

"Then,"  she  said,  "it  seems  to  me,  if  I  were  you,  I 
should  accept  the  opportunities  that  came  in  my  way.  Of 
course,  it's  not  my  affair.  I  shouldn't  have  presumed  to 
advise."  She  rose  and  moved  toward  the  door.  "Good 
night,  Mr.  Kendrick,"  she  said.  "Good  night,  Captain 
Bangs.  Auntie,  you  will  excuse  me,  won't  you?  I  am 
rather  tired  tonight,  and " 

But  once  more  Kendrick  interrupted. 

"One  moment,  please,  Miss  Howes,"  he  said,  earnestly. 
"Do  I  understand — do  you  mean  that  you  wish  me  to  ac 
cept  Cousin  Holliday's  retainer?" 

Emily  paused. 

"Why,"  she  answered,  after  an  instant's  hesitation,  "I 
— I  really  don't  see  why  my  wish  one  way  or  the  other 
should  be  very  strong.  But — but  as  a  friend  of  yours — 
of  course  we  are  all  your  friends,  Mr.  Kendrick — as  one 
of  your  friends  I — we,  naturally,  like  to  see  you  rise  in 
your  profession." 

"Then  you  advise  me  to  accept?" 

"If  my  advice  is  worth  anything — yes.    Good  night." 

Next  day,  when  Captain  Obed  made  his  customary 
call  at  the  ex-barber-shop,  he  ventured  to  ask  the  ques 
tion  uppermost  in  his  mind. 

"Have  you  decided  yet,  John  ?"  he  asked. 

His  friend  looked  at  him. 

"Meaning — what?"  he  queried. 

"Meanin' — you  know  what  I  mean  well  enough.  Have 
you  decided  to  take  your  cousin's  offer?" 

"I've  done  more  than  that,  Captain.  I  have  accepted 
the  offer  and  the  retaining  fee,  too." 

Captain  Obed  sprang  forward  and  held  out  his  hand. 

158 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Bully  for  you,  John !"  he  shouted.  "That's  the  best 
thing  you  ever  done  in  your  life.  Now  you've  really 
started." 

Kendrick  smiled.  "Yes,"  he  admitted,  "I  have  started. 
Where  I  may  finish  is  another  matter." 

"Oh,  you'll  finish  all  right.  Don't  be  a  Jeremiah,  John. 
Well,  well !  This  is  fine.  Won't  all  hands  be  pleased !" 

"Yes,  won't  they !  Especially  Brother  Daniels.  Daniels 
will  be  overcome  with  joy.  Captain,  have  a  cigar.  Have 
two  cigars.  I  have  begun  to  spend  my  retainer  already, 
you  see." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  August  days  were  busy  ones  at  the  High  Cliff 
House.     Every  room  was  filled  and  the  tables 
in  the  dining-room  well  crowded.    Thankful  told 
Captain  Bangs  that  she  could  not  spare  time  even  to  look 
out  of  the  window.    "And  yet  Emily  "and  I  are  about  the 
only  ones  who  don't  look  out,"  she  added.     "There's 
enough  goin'  on  to  look  at,  that's  sartin." 

There  was  indeed.  Mr.  E.  Holliday  Kendrick  having 
taken  possession  of  his  new  estate,  immediately  set  about 
the  improving  and  enlarging  which  Mr.  Daniels  had 
quoted  him  as  contemplating.  Carpenters,  painters  and 
gardeners  were  at  work  daily.  The  Kendrick  motor  cars 
and  the  Kendrick  servants  were  much  in  evidence  along 
East  Wellmouth's  main  road.  What  had  been  done  by 
the  great  man  and  his  employees  and  what  would  be  done 
in  the  near  future  kept  the  gossips  busy.  He  was  plan 
ning  a  new  rose  garden — "the  finest  from  Buzzard's  Bay 
down";  he  had  torn  out  the  "whole  broadside"  of  the 
music-room  and  was  "cal'latin'  "  to  make  it  twice  as  large 
as  formerly ;  he  was  to  build  a  large  conservatory  on  the 
knoll  by  the  stables.  Hannah  Parker  declared  she  could 
not  see  the  need  of  this.  "There's  a  tower  onto  the  main 
buildin'  already,"  she  said,  "pretty  nigh  as  high  as  a 
lighthouse.  I  should  think  a  body  could  see  fur  enough 
from  that  tower,  without  riggin'  up  a  conservatory.  Well, 
Mrs.  Kendrick  needn't  ask  me  to  go  up  in  it.  I  went  to 

160 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

the  top  of  the  conservatory  on  Scargo  Hill  one  time  and 
I  was  so  dizzy  in  the  head  I  thought  sure  I'd  fall  right 
over  the  railin'." 

The  High  Cliff  boarders — Miss  Timpson  and  Caleb 
Hammond  especially — spent  a  great  deal  of  time  peering 
from  the  living-room  windows  and  watching  what  they 
called  the  "goin's  on"  at  the  Kendrick  estate.  Occa 
sionally  they  caught  a  glimpse  of  E.  Holliday  himself. 
The  great  man  was  inclined  to  greatness  even  in  the  phys 
ical  meaning  of  the  word,  for  he  was  tall  and  stout,  and 
dignified,  not  to  say  pompous.  Arrayed  in  white  flannels 
he  issued  orders  to  his  hirelings  and  the  hirelings  obeyed 
him.  When  one  is  monarch  of  the  larger  portion  of  all 
he  surveys  it  must  be  gratifying  to  feel  that  one  looks 
the  part.  E.  Holliday  looked  it  and  apparently  felt  it. 

Thankful,  during  this,  her  most  prosperous  season,  was 
active  from  morning  until  night.  When  that  night  came 
she  was  ready  for  sleep,  ready  for  more  than  she  could 
afford  to  take.  Emily  was  invaluable  as  manager  and  as 
sistant,  and  Captain  Obed  Bangs  assisted  and  advised 
in  every  way  that  he  could.  The  captain  had  come  to  be 
what  Mrs.  Barnes  called  the  "sheet  anchor"  of  the  High 
Cliff  House.  .Whenever  the  advice  of  a  man,  or  a  man's 
help  was  needed,  it  was  to  Captain  Bangs  that  she  turned. 
And  Captain  Obed  was  always  only  too  glad  to  help. 
Hannah  Parker  declared  he  spent  more  time  at  the  board 
ing  house  than  he  did  at  her  home. 

If  Emily  Howes  noticed  how  frequently  the  captain 
called — and  it  is  probable  that  she  did — she  said  nothing 
about  it.  John  Kendrick  must  have  noticed  it,  for  occa 
sionally,  when  he  and  Captain  Obed  were  alone,  he  made 
an  irrelevant  remark  like  the  following: 

"Captain,"  he  said,  on  one  occasion,  "I  think  you're 
growing  younger  every  day." 

161 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Who?  Me?  Go  on,  John!  How  you  talk!  I'm  so 
old  my  timbers  creak  every  time  I  go  up  a  flight  of  stairs. 
They'll  be  sendin'  me  to  the  junk  pile  pretty  soon." 

"I  guess  not.  You're  as  young  as  I  am,  every  bit.  Not 
in  years,  perhaps,  but  in  spirit  and  energy.  And  you  sur 
prise  me,  too.  I  didn't  know  you  were  such  a  lady's 
man." 

"Me  ?  A  lady's  man  ?  Tut,  tut !  Don't  talk  foolish. 
If  I've  cruised  alone  all  these  years  I  cal'late  that's 
proof  enough  of  how  much  a  lady's  man  I  am." 

"That's  no  proof.  You  haven't  happened  upon  the 
right  sort  of  consort,  that's  all.  Look  at  Brother  Daniels ; 
he  is  a  bachelor,  too,  but  everyone  knows  what  a  lady's 
man  he  is." 

"Humph !  You  ain't  comparin'  me  to  Heman  Daniels, 
are  you?" 

"No.  No,  of  course  not.  I  shouldn't  dare.  Compar 
ing  any  mortal  with  Daniels  would  be  heresy,  wouldn't 
it  ?  But  you  certainly  are  popular  with  the  fair  sex.  Why, 
even  Imogene  has  fallen  under  the  influence.  She  says 
Mrs.  Barnes  thinks  you  are  the  finest  man  in  the  world." 

"She  does,  hey?  Well,"  tartly,  "she  better  mind  her 
own  affairs.  I  thought  she  rated  Kenelm  Parker  about 
as  high  as  anybody  these  days.  He  spends  more  time 
in  that  kitchen  of  hers " 

"There,  there,  Captain !  Don't  sidestep.  The  fair  Imo 
gene  may  be  susceptible  to  Mr.  Parker's  charms,  but  that 
is  probably  because  you  haven't  smiled  upon  her.  If 
you " 

"Say,  look  here,  John  Kendrick !  If  you  keep  on  talk- 
in'  loony  in  this  way  I'll  begin  to  heave  out  a  few  hints 
myself.  I  may  be  as  popular  as  you  say,  with  Imogene 
and — and  the  help,  but  I  know  somebody  else  that  is 
catchin'  the  same  disease." 

162 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Meaning  Mr.  Daniels,  I  suppose?  He  is  popular,  I 
admit." 

"Is  he?  Well,  you  ought  to  know  best.  Seems  to  me 
I  can  call  to  mind  somebody  else  that  is  fairly  popular — 
in  some  latitudes.  By  the  way,  John,  you  don't  seem  to 
be  as  popular  with  Heman  as  you  was  at  first." 

"I'm  sorry.  My  accepting  my  cousin's  retainer 
may " 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that.  What  was  you  and  Emily 
doin'  at  Chris  Badger's  store  yesterday  afternoon?" 

"Doing?  Yesterday?  Oh,  yes!  I  did  meet  Miss 
Howes  while  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  office  and  I  waited 
while  she  did  a  little  marketing.  What  in  the  world " 

"Nothin'.  Fur's  that  goes  I  don't  think  either  of  you 
knew  you  was  in  the  world.  I  passed  right  by  and  you 
didn't  see  me.  Heman  saw  you,  too.  What  was  your 
marketin' — vegetables  ?" 

"I  believe  so.  Captain,  you're  sidestepping  again.  It 
was  of  you,  not  me,  I  was  speaking  when " 

"Yes,  I  know.  Well,  I'm  speakin'  about  you  now. 
Heman  saw  you  buyin'  them  vegetables.  Tomatters, 
wa'n't  they?" 

"Perhaps  so.  Have  you  been  drinking?  What  differ 
ence  does  it  make  whether  we  bought  tomatoes  or  po 
tatoes  ?" 

"Didn't  make  none — to  me.  But  I  bet  Heman  didn't 
like  to  see  you  two  buyin'  tomatters." 

"For  heaven's  sake,  why  not?" 

"Oh,  'cause  he  probably  remembered,  same  as  I  did, 
what  folks  used  to  call  'em  in  the  old  days." 

"You  have  been  drinking!  What  did  they  use  to  call 
them?" 

"Love  apples,"  replied  Captain  Obed,  and  strode  away 
chuckling.  John  watched  him  go.  He,  too,  laughed  at 

163 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

first,  but  his  laugh  broke  off  in  the  middle  and  when  he 
went  into  the  house  his  expression  was  troubled  and 
serious. 

One  remark  of  the  captain's  was  true  enough;  John 
Kendrick's  popularity  with  his  professional  rival  was 
growing  daily  less.  The  pair  were  scrupulously  polite 
to  each  other,  but  they  seldom  spoke  except  when  others 
were  present,  and  Mr.  Daniels  made  it  a  point  appar 
ently  to  be  present  whenever  Miss  Howes  was  in  the 
room.  He  continued  to  bring  his  little  offerings  of  fruit 
and  flowers  and  his  invitations  for  drives  and  picnics  and 
entertainments  at  the  town  hall  were  more  frequent. 
Sometimes  Emily  accepted  these  invitations ;  more  often 
she  refused  them.  John  also  occasionally  invited  her  to 
drive  with  him  or  to  play  tennis  on  his  cousin's  courts, 
and  these  invitations  she  treated  as  she  did  Heman's, 
refusing  some  and  accepting  others.  She  treated  the 
pair  with  impartiality  and  yet  Thankful  was  growing 
to  believe  there  was  a  difference.  Imogene,  out 
spoken,  expressed  her  own  feelings  in  the  matter  when 
she  said, 

"Miss  Emily  likes  Mr.  Kendrick  pretty  well,  don't  she, 
ma'am  ?" 

Thankful  regarded  her  maidservant  with  disapproval. 

"What  makes  you  say  that,  Imogene?"  she  demanded. 
"Of  course  she  likes  him.  Why  shouldn't  she?" 

"She  should,  ma'am.  And  she  does,  too.  And  he  likes 
her;  that's  plain  enough." 

"Imogene,  what  are  you  hintin'  at  ?  Do  you  mean  that 
my  cousin  is  in — in  love  with  Mr.  John  Kendrick?" 

"No'm.  I  don't  say  that,  not  yet.  But  there's  signs 
that— 

"Signs !  If  you  don't  get  those  ridiculous  story-book 
notions  out  of  your  head  I  don't  know  what  I'll  do  to 

164 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

you.    What  do  you  know  about  folks  bein'  in  love  ?    You 
ain't  in  love,  I  hope;  are  you?" 

Imogene  hesitated.  "No,  ma'am,"  she  replied.  "I  ain't. 
But — but  maybe  I  might  be,  if  I  wanted  to." 

"For  mercy  sakes !  The  girl's  crazy.  You  might  be — 
if  you  wanted  to!  Who  with?  If  you're  thinkin'  of 
marryin'  anybody  seems  to  me  I  ought  to  know  it.  Why, 
you  ain't  met  more'n  a  dozen  young  fellers  in  this  town, 
and  I've  taken  good  care  to  know  who  they  were.  If 
you're  thinkin'  of  fallin'  in  love — or  marryin' " 

Imogene  interrupted.  "I  ain't,"  she  declared.  "And, 
anyhow,  ma'am,  gettin'  married  don't  necessarily  mean 
you're  in  love." 

"It  don't !    Well,  this  beats  all  I  ever " 

"No,  ma'am,  it  don't.  Sometimes  it's  a  person's  duty 
to  get  married." 

Thankful  gasped.  "Duty !"  she  repeated.  "You  have 
been  readin'  more  of  those  books,  in  spite  of  your  prom- 
isin'  me  you  wouldn't." 

"No,  ma'am,  I  ain't.    Honest,  I  ain't." 

"Then  what  do  you  mean  ?  Imogene,  what  man  do  you 
care  enough  for  to  make  you  feel  it's  your — your  duty 
to  marry  him?" 

"No  man  at  all,"  declared  Imogene,  promptly  and  de 
cisively.  And  that  is  all  she  would  say  on  the  subject. 

Thankful  repeated  this  astonishing  conversation,  or 
part  of  it,  to  Emily.  The  latter  considered  it  a  good 
joke.  "That  girl  is  a  strange  creature,"  she  said,  "and 
great  fun.  You  never  can  tell  what  she  will  say  or  think. 
She  is  very  romantic  and  that  nonsense  about  duty  and 
the  rest  of  it  undoubtedly  is  taken  from  some  story  she 
has  read.  You  needn't  worry,  Auntie.  Imogene  worships 
you,  and  she  will  never  leave  you — to  be  married,  or  for 
any  other  reason." 

165 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

So  Thankful  did  not  worry  about  Imogene.  She  had 
other  worries,  those  connected  with  a  houseful  of  board 
ers,  and  these  were  quite  sufficient.  And  now  came  an 
other.  Kenelm  Parker  was  threatening  to  leave  her  em 
ploy. 

The  statement  is  not  strictly  true.  Kenelm,  himself, 
never  threatened  to  do  anything.  But  another  person 
did  the  threatening  for  him  and  that  person  was  his  sis 
ter.  Hannah  Parker,  for  some  unaccountable  reason, 
seemed  to  be  developing  a  marked  prejudice  against  the 
High  Cliff  House.  Her  visits  to  the  premises  were  not 
less  frequent  than  formerly,  but  they  were  confined  to  the 
yard  and  stable;  she  no  longer  called  at  the  house.  Her 
manner  toward  Emily  and  Thankful  was  cordial  enough 
perhaps,  but  there  was  constraint  in  it  and  she  asked  a 
good  many  questions  concerning  her  brother's  hours  of 
labor,  what  he  did  during  the  day,  and  the  like. 

"She  acts  awful  queer,  seems  to  me,"  said  Thankful. 
"Not  the  way  she  did  at  first  at  all.  In  the  beginnin'  I 
had  to  plan  pretty  well  to  keep  her  from  runnin'  in  and 
sp'ilin'  my  whole  mornin'  with  her  talk.  Now  she  seems 
to  be  keepin'  out  of  my  way.  What  we've  done  to  make 
her  act  so  I  can't  see,  and  neither  can  Emily." 

Captain  Bangs,  to  whom  this  remark  was  addressed, 
laughed. 

"You  ain't  done  anything,  I  guess,"  he  said.  "It  ain't 
you  she's  down  on ;  it's  your  hired  girl,  the  Imogene  one. 
She  seems  to  be  more  down  on  that  Imogene  than  a  bow 
anchor  on  a  mud  flat.  They  don't  hitch  horses,  those 
two.  You  see  she  tries  to  boss  and  condescend  and  Imo 
gene  gives  her  as  good  as  she  sends.  It's  got  so  that 
Hannah  is  actually  scared  of  that  girl;  don't  pretend  to 
be,  of  course ;  calls  her  'the  inmate'  and  all  sorts  of  names. 
But  she  is  scared  of  her  and  don't  like  her." 

166 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Thankful  was  troubled.  "I'm  sorry,"  she  said.  "Imo- 
gene  is  independent,  but  she's  an  awful  kind-hearted  girl. 
I  do  hate  trouble  amongst  neighbors." 

"Oh,  there  won't  be  any  trouble.  Hannah's  jealous, 
that's  all  the  trouble — jealous  about  Kenelm.  You  see, 
she  wanted  him  to  come  here  to  work  so's  she  could  have 
him  under  her  thumb  and  run  over  and  give  him  orders 
every  few  minutes.  Imogene  gives  him  orders,  too,  and 
he  minds ;  she  makes  him.  Hannah  don't  like  that ;  'cord- 
in'  to  her  notion  Kenelm  hadn't  ought  to  have  any  skipper 
but  her.  It's  all  right,  though,  Mrs.  Barnes.  It's  good 
for  Kenelm  and  it's  good  for  Hannah.  Do  'em  both  good, 
I  cal'late." 

But  when  Kenelm  announced  that  he  wasn't  sure  but 
that  he  should  "heave  up  his  job"  in  a  fortnight  or  so,  the 
situation  became  more  serious. 

"He  mustn't  leave,"  declared  Thankful.  "August  and 
early  September  are  the  times  when  I've  got  to  have  a 
man  on  the  place,  and  you  say  yourself,  Captain  Bangs, 
that  there  isn't  another  man  to  be  had  just  now.  If  he 
goes " 

"Oh,  he  won't  go.  This  is  more  of  Hannah's  talk; 
she's  put  him  up  to  this  leavin'  business.  Offer  him  an 
other  dollar  a  week,  if  you  have  to,  and  I'll  do  some 
preachin'  to  Hannah,  myself." 

When  Thankful  mentioned  the  matter  to  Imogene  the 
latter's  comment  was  puzzling  but  emphatic. 

"Don't  you  fret,  ma'am,"  she  said.    "He  ain't  left  yet." 

"I  know;  but  he  says " 

"He  don't  say  it.  It's  that  sister  of  his  does  all  the 
sayin'.  And  she  ain't  workin'  for  you  that  I  know  of." 

"Now,  Imogene,  we  mustn't,  any  of  us,  interfere  be 
tween  Kenelm  and  his  sister.  She  is  his  sister,  you 
know." 

167 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Yes'm.  But  she  isn't  his  mother  and  his  grandmother 
and  his  aunt  and  all  his  relations.  And,  if  she  was, 
'twouldn't  make  no  difference.  He's  the  one  to  say 
whether  he's  goin'  to  leave  or  not." 

"But  he  does  say  it.    That  is,  he " 

"He  just  says  he  'cal'lates.'  He  never  said  he  was 
goin'  to  do  anything;  not  for  years,  anyhow.  It's  all 
right,  Mrs.  Thankful.  You  just  wait  and  see.  If  worst 
comes  to  worst  I've  got  a " 

She  stopped  short.  "What  have  you  got,  Imogene?" 
asked  Mrs.  Barnes. 

"Oh,  nothin',  ma'am.    Only  you  just  wait." 

So  Thankful  waited  and  Kenelm,  perfectly  aware  of 
the  situation,  and  backed  by  the  counsel  of  his  sister,  be 
came  daily  more  independent.  He  did  only  such  work  as 
he  cared  to  do  and  his  hours  for  arriving  and  departing 
were  irregular,  to  say  the  least. 

On  the  last  Thursday,  Friday  and  Saturday  of  August 
the  Ostable  County  Cattle  Show  and  Fair  was  to  be  held 
at  the  county  seat.  The  annual  Cattle  Show  is  a  big 
event  on  the  Cape  and  practically  all  of  East  Wellmouth 
was  planning  to  attend.  Most  of  the  High  Cliff  boarders 
were  going  to  the  Fair  and,  Friday  being  the  big  day,  they 
were  going  on  Friday.  Imogene  asked  for  a  holiday  on 
that  day.  The  request  was  granted.  Then  Kenelm  an 
nounced  that  he  and  Hannah  were  cal'latin'  to  go. 
Thankful  was  somewhat  reluctant;  she  felt  that  to  be  de 
prived  of  the  services  of  both  her  hired  man  and  maid 
on  the  same  day  might  be  troublesome.  But  as  the  Par 
ker  announcement  was  more  in  the  nature  of  an  ulti 
matum  than  a  request,  she  said  yes  under  protest.  But 
when  Captain  Obed  appeared  and  invited  her  and  John 
Kendrick  and  Emily  Howes  to  go  to  the  Fair  with  him  in 
a  hired  motor  car  she  was  more  troubled  than  ever. 

168 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"I'd  like  to  go,  Cap'n,"  she  said.  "Oh,  I  would  like 
to  go !  I  haven't  had  a  day  off  since  this  place  opened 
and  I  never  rode  in  an  automobile  more'n  three  times  in 
my  life.  But  I  can't  do  it.  You  and  Emily  and  John 
can,  of  course,  and  you  must;  but  I've  got  to  stay  here. 
Some  of  the  boarders  will  be  here  for  their  meals  and  I 
can't  leave  the  house  alone." 

Captain  Obed  uttered  a  dismayed  protest. 

"Sho !"  he  exclaimed.  "Sho !  That's  too  bad.  Why,  I 
counted  more  on  your  goin'  than — Humph !  You've  just 
got  to  go,  that's  all.  Can't  Imogene  look  after  the  house  ?" 

"She  could  if  she  was  goin'  to  be  here,  but  she's  goin' 
to  the  Fair  herself.  I  promised  her  she  could  and  I  must 
keep  my  promise." 

"Yes,  yes ;  I  presume  likely  you  must.  But  now,  Mrs. 
Thankful " 

"I'm  afraid  there  can't  be  any  'but,'  Cap'n.  You  and 
Mr.  Kendrick  and  Emily  go  and  I'll  get  my  fun  thinkin' 
what  a  good  time  you'll  have." 

She  was  firm  and  at  last  the  captain  yielded.  But  his 
keen  disappointment  was  plainly  evident.  He  said  but 
little  during  his  stay  at  the  boarding-house  and  went  home 
early,  glum  and  disconsolate.  At  the  Parker  domicile  he 
found  Kenelm  and  his  sister  in  a  heated  argument. 

"I  don't  care,  Hannah,"  vowed  Kenelm.  "I'm  a-goin' 
to  that  Fair,  no  matter  if  I  do  have  to  go  alone.  Didn't 
you  tell  me  I  was  goin'  ?  Didn't  you  put  me  up  to  askin' 
for  the  day  off  ?  Didn't  you " 

"Never  mind  what  I  did.  I  give  in  I  had  planned  for 
you  to  go,  but  that  was  when  I  figgered  on  you  and  me 
goin'  together.  Now  that  Mr.  Hammond  has  invited  me 
to  go  along  with  him " 

Captain  Obed  interrupted.  "Hello !  Hello !"  he  ex 
claimed.  "What's  this?  Has  Caleb  Hammond  offered 

169 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

to  go  gallivantin'  off  to  the  Ostable  Cattle  Show  along 
with  you,  Hannah  ?  Well,  well !  Wonders'll  never  cease. 
Caleb's  gettin'  gay  in  his  old  age,  ain't  he?  Humph! 
there'll  be  somethin'  else  for  the  postoffice  gang  to  talk 
about,  first  thing  you  know.  Hannah,  I'm  surprised !" 

Miss  Parker  colored  and  seemed  embarrassed.  Her 
brother,  however,  voiced  his  disgust. 

"Surprised!"  he  repeated.  "Huh!  That's  nuthin'  to 
what  I  am.  I'm  more'n  surprised — I'm  paralyzed.  To 
think  of  that  tightfisted  old  fool  lettin'  go  of  money 
enough  to  hire  a  horse  and  team  and " 

"Kenelm!"  Hannah's  voice  quivered  with  indignation. 
"Kenelm  Parker!  The  idea!" 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  say,  the  idea !  Here's  an  old  crit 
ter — yes,  he  is  old,  too.  He's  so  nigh  seventy  he  don't 
dast  look  at  the  almanac  for  fear  he'll  find  it's  past  his 
birthday.  And  he's  always  been  so  tight  with  money  that 
he'd  buy  second-hand  postage  stamps  if  the  Gov'ment 
wouldn't  catch  him.  And  his  wife's  been  dead  a  couple 
of  hundred  year,  more  or  less,  and  yet,  by  thunder-mighty, 
all  to  once  he  starts  in " 

"Kenelm  Parker,  you  stop  this  minute!  I'm  ashamed 
of  you.  Mr.  Hammond's  a  real,  nice,  respectable  man. 
As  to  his  money — well,  that's  his  business  anyhow,  and, 
besides,  he  ain't  hirin'  the  horse  and  buggy ;  he's  goin'  to 
borrow  it  off  his  nephew  over  to  the  Centre.  His  askin' 
me  to  go  is  a  real  neighborly  act." 

"Huh !  If  he's  so  plaguy  neighborly  why  don't  he  ask 
me  to  go,  too  ?  I'm  as  nigh  a  neighbor  as  you  be,  ain't  I  ?" 

"He  don't  ask  you  because  the  buggy  won't  hold  but 
two,  and  you  know  it.  I  should  think  you'd  be  glad  to 
have  me  save  the  expense  of  my  fare.  Winnie  S.  would 
charge  me  fifty  cents  to  take  me  to  the  depot,  and  the 

fare  on  the  excursion  train  is " 

170 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Now  what  kind  of  talk's  that!  I  ain't  complainin' 
'cause  you  save  the  expense.  And  I  don't  care  if  you  go 
along  with  all  the  old  men  from  here  to  Joppa.  What 
I'm  sayin'  is  that  I'm  goin'  to  that  Fair  tomorrow.  I  can 
go  alone  in  the  cars,  I  guess.  There  won't  nobody  kid 
nap  me,  as  I  know  of." 

"But,  Kenelm,  I  don't  like  to  have  you  over  there  all 
by  yourself.  It'll  be  so  lonesome  for  you.  If  you'll  only 
wait  maybe  I'll  go  again,  myself.  Maybe  we  could  both 
go  together  on  Saturday." 

"I  don't  want  to  go  Saturday ;  I  want  to  go  tomorrow. 
Tomorrow's  the  big  day,  when  they  have  the  best  horse- 
racin'.  Why,  Darius  Holt  is  cal'latin'  to  make  money 
tomorrow.  He's  got  ten  dollars  bet  on  Exie  B.  in  the 
second  race  and " 

"Kenelm  Parker!  Is  that  what  you  want  to  go  to 
that  Cattle  Show  for?  To  bet  on  horse  trots!  To 
gamble!" 

"Aw,  dry  up.  How'd  I  gamble?  You  don't  let  me 
have  money  enough  to  put  in  the  collection  box  Sundays, 
let  alone  gamblin'.  I  have  to  shove  my  fist  clear  way 
down  to  the  bottom  of  the  plate  whenever  they  pass  it  for 
fear  Heman  Daniels'll  see  that  I'm  only  lettin'  go  of  a 
nickel.  Aw,  Hannah,  have  some  sense,  won't  you !  I'd 
just  as  soon  go  to  that  Fair  alone  as  not.  I  won't  be 
lonesome.  Lots  of  folks  I  know  are  goin';  men  and 
women,  too." 

"Women?    What  women?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.    How  should  I  know  ?" 

"Well — well,  I  suppose  likely  they  are.  Imogene  said 
she  was  goin'  and " 

''Imogene !  You  mean  that  hired  inmate  over  to 
Thankful  Barnes'?  Humph  1  So  she  told  you  she  was 
goin',  hey?  Well,  most  likely  she  told  a  fib.  I  wouldn't 

171 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

trust  her  not  to ;  sassy,  impudent  thing !    I  don't  believe 
she's  goin'  at  all.    Is  she,  Cap'n  Bangs  ?" 

The  captain,  who  had  remained  silent  during  this  fam 
ily  jar,  could  not  resist  the  temptation. 

"Oh  yes,  Imogene's  goin',"  he  answered,  cheerfully. 
"She's  countin'  on  havin'  the  time  of  her  life  over  there. 
But  she  isn't  the  only  one.  Why,  about  all  the  females 
in  East  Wellmouth'll  be  there.  I  heard  Abbie  Larkin 
arrangin'  for  her  passage  with  Winnie  S.  yesterday  after 
noon.  Win  said,  'Judas  priest !'  He  didn't  know  where 
he  was  goin'  to  put  her,  but  he  cal'lated  he'd  have  to 
find  stowage  room  somewhere.  Oh,  Kenelm  won't  be 
lonesome,  Hannah.  I  shouldn't  worry  about  that." 

Kenelm  looked  as  if  he  wished  the  speaker  might  choke. 
Hannah  straightened  in  her  chair. 

"Hum!"  she  mused.  "Hum!"  and  was  silent  for  a 
moment.  Then  she  asked : 

"Is  Mrs.  Thankful  goin',  too  ?    I  suppose  likely  she  is." 

The  captain's  cheerfulness  vanished. 

"No,"  he  said,  shortly,  "she  isn't.  She  wanted  to,  but 
she  doesn't  feel  she  can  leave  the  boardin'-house  with 
nobody  to  look  after  it." 

Miss  Parker  seemed  pleased,  for  some  reason  or  other. 

"I  don't  wonder,"  she  said,  heartily.  "She  shouldn't 
be  left  all  alone  herself,  either.  If  that  ungrateful,  selfish 
Orphan's  Home  minx  is  selfish  enough  to  go  and  leave 
her,  all  the  more  reason  my  brother  shouldn't.  Whatever 
else  us  Parkers  may  be,  we  ain't  selfish.  We  think  about 
others.  Kenelm,  dear,  you  must  stay  at  work  and  help 
Mrs.  Barnes  around  the  house  tomorrow.  You  and  I'll 
go  to  the  Fair  on  Saturday.  I  don't  mind;  I'd  just  as 
soon  go  twice  as  not." 

Kenelm  sprang  to  his  feet.  He  was  so  angry  that  he 
stuttered. 

172 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"You — you — you  don't  care !"  he  shouted.  "  'Cause 
you're  goin'  twice!  That's  a  divil  of  a  don't  care,  that 
is!" 

"Kenelm!    My  own  brother!     Cursin'  and  swearin'!" 

"I  ain't,  and — and  I  don't  care  if  I  be!  What's  the 
matter  with  you,  Hannah  Parker?  One  minute  you're 
sailin'  into  me  tellin'  me  to  heave  up  my  job  and  not 
demean  myself  doin'  odd  jobs  in  a  boardin'-house  barn. 
And  the  next  minute  you're  tellin'  me  I  ought  to  stay 
to  home  and — and  help  out  that  very  boardin'-house.  I 
won't !  By — by  thunder-mighty,  I  won't !  I'm  goin'  to 
that  Cattle  Show  tomorrow  if  it  takes  my  last  cent." 

Hannah  smiled.  "How  many  last  cents  have  you  got, 
Kenelm  ?"  she  asked.  "You  was  doin'  your  best  to  borrer 
a  quarter  of  me  this  mornin'." 

"I've  got  more'n  you  have.  I — I — everything  there 
is  here — yes,  and  every  cent  there  is  here — belongs  to  me 
by  rights.  You  ain't  got  nothin'  of  your  own." 

Miss  Parker  turned  upon  him.  "To  think,"  she  wailed, 
brokenly,  "to  think  that  my  own  brother — all  the  bro 
ther  I've  got — can  stand  afore  me  and  heave  my — my 
poverty  in  my  face.  I  may  be  dependent  on  him.  I 
am,  I  suppose.  But  Oh,  the  disgrace  of  it !  the — Oh ! 
Oh!  Oh!" 

Captain  Obed  hurried  upstairs  to  his  room.  Long  after 
he  had  shut  the  door  he  heard  the  sounds  of  Hannah's 
sobs  and  Kenelm's  pleadings  that  he  "never  meant  noth 
in'."  Then  came  silence  and,  at  last,  the  sounds  of  foot 
steps  on  the  stairs.  They  halted  in  the  upper  hall. 

"I  don't  know,  Kenelm,"  said  Hannah,  sadly.  "I'll 
try  to  forgive  you.  I  presume  likely  I  must.  But  when 
I  think  of  how  I've  been  a  mother  to  you " 

"Now,  Hannah,  there  you  go  again.  How  could  you 
be  my  mother  when  you  ain't  but  four  year  older'n  I  be  ? 

173 


,  THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

You  just  give  me  a  few  dollars  and  let  me  go  to  that 
Cattle  Show  and " 

"No,  Kenelm,  that  I  can't  do.  You  are  goin'  to  leave 
Mrs.  Barnes'  place;  I  want  you  to  do  that,  for  the  sake 
of  your  self-respect.  But  you  must  stay  there  and  help 
her  tomorrow.  It's  your  duty." 

"Darn  my  duty!  I'll  leave  tomorrow,  that's  what  I'll 
do." 

"Oh  dear!  There  you  go  again.  Profane  language 
and  bettin'  on  horses !  What' II  come  next  ?  My  own 
brother  a  gambler  and  a  prodigate !  Has  it  come  to  this  ?" 

The  footsteps  and  voices  died  away.  Captain  Obed 
blew  out  the  light  and  got  into  bed.  The  last  words  he 
heard  that  night  were  uttered  by  the  "prodigate"  him 
self  on  his  way  to  his  sleeping  quarters.  And  they  were 
spoken  as  a  soliloquy. 

"By  time!"  muttered  Kenelm,  as  he  shuffled  slowly 
past  the  Captain's  door.  "By  time !  I — I'll  do  somethin' 
desperate !" 

Next  morning,  when  Captain  Obed's  hired  motor  car, 
with  its  owner,  a  Wellmouth  Centre  man,  acting  as  chauf 
feur,  rolled  into  the  yard  of  the  High  Cliff  House,  a  party 
of  three  came  out  to  meet  it.  John  Kendrick  and  Emily 
Howes  were  of  the  party  and  they  were  wrapped  and 
ready  for  the  trip.  The  captain  had  expected  them ; 
but  the  third,  also  dressed  for  the  journey,  was  Mrs. 
Thankful  Barnes.  Thankful's  plump  countenance  was 
radiant. 

"I'm  goin'  after  all,"  she  announced.  "I'm  goin'  to 
the  Fair  with  you,  Cap'n  Bangs.  Now  what  do  you 
think  of  that?  .  .  .  That  is,"  she  added,  looking  at 
the  automobile,  "if  you  can  find  a  place  to  put  me." 

The  captain's  joy  was  as  great  as  his  surprise.  "Place 
to  put  you!"  he  repeated.  "If  I  couldn't  do  anything 

174 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

else  I'd  hang  on  behind,  like  a  youngster  to  a  truck 
wagon,  afore  you  stayed  at  home.  Good  for  you,  Mrs. 
Thankful!  But  how'd  you  come  to  change  your  mind? 
Thought  you  couldn't  leave." 

Thankful  smiled  happily.  "I  didn't  change  my  mind, 
Cap'n,"  she  said.  "Imogene  changed  hers.  She's  a  real, 
good  sacrificin'  body,  the  girl  is.  When  she  found  I'd 
been  asked  and  wouldn't  go,  she  put  her  foot  down  flat. 
Nothin'  would  do  but  she  should  stay  at  home  today  and 
I  should  go.  I  knew  what  a  disappointment  'twas  to  her, 
but  she  just  made  me  do  it.  She'll  go  tomorrow  instead ; 
that's  the  way  we  fixed  it  finally.  I'm  awful  glad  for 
myself,  but  I  do  feel  mean  about  Imogene,  just  the  same." 

A  few  minutes  later,  the  auto,  with  John,  Emily  and 
Thankful  on  the  rear  seat  and  Captain  Obed  in  front 
with  the  driver,  rolled  out  of  the  yard  and  along  the 
sandy  road  toward  Wellmouth  Centre.  About  a  mile 
from  the  latter  village  it  passed  a  buggy  with  two  people 
in  it.  The  pair  in  the  buggy  were  Caleb  Hammond  and 
Hannah  Parker. 

Captain  Obed  chuckled.  "There  go  the  sweethearts," 
he  observed.  "Handsome  young  couple,  ain't  they?" 

The  other  occupants  of  the  car  joined  in  the  laugh. 
Emily,  in  particular,  was  greatly  amused. 

"Why  do  you  call  them  sweethearts,  Captain?"  she 
asked.  "You  don't  really  suppose " 

The  captain  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"What?  Those  two?"  he  said.  "No,  no,  I  was  only 
jokin'.  I  don't  know  about  Hannah — single  women  her 
age  are  kind  of  chancey — but  I  do  know  Caleb.  He  ain't 
takin'  a  wife  to  support,  not  unless  she  can  support  him. 
He  had  a  chance  to  use  a  horse  and  buggy  free  for  noth- 
in',  that's  all,  and  it  would  be  against  his  principles  to  let 
a  chance  like  that  go  by.  Cal'late  he  took  Hannah  'cause 

175 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

he  knew  ice  cream  and  peanuts  don't  agree  with  her 
dyspepsy  and  so  he  wouldn't  have  to  buy  any.  Ho,  ho ! 
I  wonder  how  Kenelm  made  out?  Wonder  if  he  went  on 
his  own  hook,  after  all?" 

In  the  kitchen  of  the  High  Cliff  House  Imogene  was 
washing  the  breakfast  dishes  and  trying  to  forget  her 
disappointment.  A  step  sounded  in  the  woodshed  and, 
turning,  she  beheld  Mr.  Parker.  He  saw  her  at  the  same 
time  and  the  surprise  was  mutual. 

"Why,  hello!"  exclaimed  Imogene.  ''I  thought  you'd 
gone  to  the  Fair." 

"Hello !"  cried  Kenelm.  "Thought  you'd  gone  to  the 
Cattle  Show." 

Explanations  followed.  "What  are  you  cal'latin'  to  do, 
then?"  demanded  Kenelm,  moodily. 

"Me?  Stay  here  on  my  job,  of  course.  That's  what 
you're  goin'  to  do,  too,  ain't  it?" 

Mr.  Parker  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets. 

"No,  by  time,  I  ain't!"  he  declared,  fiercely.  "I  ain't 
got  any  job  no  more.  I've  quit,  I  have." 

"Quit!  You  mean  you  ain't  goin'  to  work  for  Mrs. 
Thankful?" 

"I  ain't  goin'  to  work  for  nobody.  Why  should  I? 
I've  got  money  enough  to  live  on,  ain't  I?  I've  got  an 
income  of  my  own.  I  ain't  told  Mrs.  Thankful  yet, 
but  I  have  quit,  just  the  same." 

Imogene  put  down  the  dishcloth. 

"This  is  your  sister's  doin's,  I  guess  likely,"  she  ob 
served. 

"No,  it  ain't !  If — if  it  was,  by  time,  I  wouldn't  do  it ! 
Hannah  treats  me  like  a  dog — yes,  sir,  like  a  dog.  I'm 
goin'  to  show  her.  A  man's  got  some  feelin's,  if  he  is  a 
dog." 

"How  are  you  goin'  to  show  her?" 
176 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"I  don't  know,  but  tf  be.  I'll  run  away,  if  I  can't  do 
nothin'  else.  I'll  show  her  I'm  sick  of  her  bossin'." 

Imogene  seemed  to  be  thinking.  She  regarded  Mr. 
Parker  with  a  steady  and  reflective  stare. 

"What  are  you  lookin'  at  me  like  that  for  ?"  demanded 
Kenelm,  after  the  stare  had  become  unbearable. 

"I  was  thinkin'.  Humph !  What  would  you  do  to  fix 
it  so's  your  sister  would  stop  her  bossin'  and  you  could 
have  your  own  way  once  in  a  while?" 

"Do?  By  time,  I'd  do  anything!  Anything,  by  thunder- 
mighty  !" 

"You  would?    You  mean  it?" 

"You  bet  I  mean  it!" 

"Would  you  promise  to  stay  right  here  and  work  for 
Mrs.  Thankful  as  long  as  she  wanted  you  to?" 

"Course  I  would.  I  ain't  anxious  to  leave.  It's  Han 
nah  that's  got  that  notion.  Fust  she  was  dead  sot 
on  my  workin'  here  and  now  she's  just  as  sot  on  my 
leavin'." 

"Do  you  know  why  she's  so — what  do  you  call  it? — 
sot?" 

Kenelm  fidgeted  and  looked  foolish.  "Well,"  he  ad 
mitted,  "I — I  wouldn't  wonder  if  'twas  account  of  you, 
Imogene.  Hannah  knows  I — I  like  you  fust  rate,  that 
we're  good  friends,  I  mean.  She's — well,  consarn  it  all ! 
— she's  jealous,  that's  what's  the  matter.  She's  awful 
silly  that  way.  I  can't  so  much  as  look  at  a  woman,  but 
she  acts  like  a  plumb  idiot.  Take  that  Abbie  Larkin, 
for  instance.  One  time  she — ho,  ho !  I  did  kind  of  get 
ahead  of  her  then,  though." 

Imogene  nodded.  "Yes,"  she  said;  "I  heard  about 
that.  Well,  maybe  you  can  get  ahead  of  her  again.  You 
wait  a  minute." 

She  went  into  the  living-room.  When  she  came  back 
177 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

she  had  an  ink-bottle,  a  pen  and  a  sheet  of  note-paper  in 
her  hands. 

"What's  them  things  for?"  demanded  Mr.  Kenelm. 

"I'll  tell  you  pretty  soon.  Kenelm,  you — you  asked  me 
somethin'  a  while  ago,  didn't  you?" 

Kenelm  started.  "Why — why,  Imogene,"  he  stam- 
merd,  "I — I  don't  know's  I  know  what  you  mean." 

"I  guess  you  know,  all  right.  You  did  ask  me — or, 
anyhow,  you  would  if  I  hadn't  said  no  before  you  had 
the  chance.  You  like  me  pretty  well,  don't  you,  Kenelm  ?" 

This  pointed  question  seemed  to  embarrass  Mr.  Parker 
greatly.  He  turned  red  and  glanced  at  the  door. 

"Why — why,  yes,  I  like  you  fust  rate,  Imogene,"  he 
admitted.  "I — I  don't  know's  I  ever  see  anybody  I  liked 
better.  But  when  it  comes  to — —  You  see,  that  time 
when  I  said — er — er  what  I  said  I  was  kind  of — of  des 
perate  along  of  Hannah  and " 

"Well,  you're  desperate  now,  ain't  you?  Here," 
sharply,  "you  sit  still  and  let  me  finish.  I've  got  a  plan 
and  you'd  better  listen  to  it.  Kenelm,  won't  you  sit  still, 
for — for  my  sake?" 

The  "big  day"  of  the  Ostable  County  Cattle  Show  and 
Fair  came  to  an  end  as  all  days,  big  or  little,  have  to  come. 
Captain  Obed  Bangs  and  his  guests  enjoyed  every  minute 
of  it.  They  inspected  the  various  exhibits,  witnessed  the 
horse  races  and  the  baseball  game,  saw  the  balloon  ascen 
sion,  and  thrilled  with  the  rest  of  the  great  crowd  at 
the  "parachute  drop."  It  was  six  o'clock  when  they 
left  the  Fair  grounds  and  Thankful  began  to  worry  about 
the  condition  of  affairs  at  the  High  Cliff  House. 

"It'll  be  way  past  dinner  time  when  you  and  I  get 
there,  Emily,"  she  said,  "and  goodness  knows  what  my 
boarders  have  had  to  eat.  Imogene's  smart  and  capable 

178 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

enough,  but  whether  she  can  handle  everything  alone 
I  don't  know.  We  ought  to  have  started  sooner,  but 
it's  nobody's  fault  more'n  mine  that  we  didn't." 

However,  when  the  High  Cliff  House  was  reached  its 
proprietor  found  that  her  fears  were  groundless.  But 
a  few  of  the  boarders  had  planned  to  eat  their  evening 
meal  there ;  most  of  the  city  contingent  were  stopping 
at  various  teahouses  and  restaurants  in  Ostable  or  along 
the  road  and  would  not  be  home  until  late. 

"Everything's  fine,  ma'am,"  declared  Imogene.  "There 
was  only  three  or  four  here  for  supper  and  I  fixed  them 
all  right.  Mr.  Hammond  came  in  late,  but  I  fed  him  up 
and  he's  gone  to  bed.  Tired  out,  I  guess.  I  asked  him 
if  he  had  a  good  time  and  he  said  he  had,  but  it  cost 
him  a  sight  of  money." 

Captain  Obed  laughed.  "Caleb  will  have  to  do  without 
his  mornin'  newspapers  for  quite  a  spell  to  make  up  for 
today's  extravagance,"  he  declared.  "That's  what  'tis  to 
take  the  girls  around.  Better  take  warnin',  John." 

John  Kendrick  smiled.  "Considering,"  he  said,  "that 
you  and  I  have  almost  come  to  blows  before  I  was  per 
mitted  to  even  buy  a  package  of  popcorn  with  my  own 
money,  I  think  you  need  the  warning  more  than  I,  Cap'n 
Bangs." 

"Imogene,"  said  Thankful,  "you've  been  a  real,  nice 
girl  today ;  you've  helped  me  out  a  lot  and  I  shan't  forget 
it.  Now  you  go  to  bed  and  rest,  so's  to  feel  like  gettin' 
an  early  start  for  the  Fair  tomorrow." 

Imogene  shook  her  head.  "I  can't  go  right  now,  thank 
you,  ma'am,"  she  said.  "I've  got  company." 

Emily  and  Thankful  looked  at  each  other. 

"Company!"  repeated  the  former.    "What  company?" 

Before  Imogene  could  answer  the  dining-room  door 
was  flung  open  and  Hannah  Parker  rushed  in.  She  was 

179 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

still  arrayed  in  her  Sunday  gown,  which  she  had  donned 
in  honor  of  Fair  Day,  but  her  Sunday  bonnet  was,  as 
Captain  Obed  said  afterward,  "canted  down  to  leeward" 
and  her  general  appearance  indicated  alarm  and  appre 
hension. 

"Why,  Hannah!"  exclaimed  Thankful.  "Why,  Miss 
Parker,  what's  the  matter?" 

Hannah's  glance  swept  the  group  before  her;  then  it 
fastened  upon  Imogene. 

"Where's  my  brother?"  she  demanded.  "Have  you 
seen  my  brother?" 

Captain  Bangs  broke  in. 

"Your  brother?  Kenelm?"  he  asked.  "Why,  what 
about  Kenelm  ?  Ain't  he  to  home  ?" 

"No.  No,  he  ain't.  And  he  ain't  been  home,  either. 
I  left  a  cold  supper  for  him  on  the  table,  and  I  put  the 
teapot  on  the  rack  of  the  stove  ready  for  him  to  bile. 
But  he  ain't  been  there.  It  ain't  been  touched.  I — I 
can't  think  what " 

Imogene  interrupted.  "Your  brother's  all  right,  Miss 
Parker,"  she  said,  calmly.  "He's  been  havin'  supper 
with  me  out  in  the  kitchen.  He's  there  now.  He's  the 
company  I  said  I  had,  Mrs.  Thankful." 

Hannah  stared  at  her.  Imogene  returned  the  gaze 
coolly,  blandly  and  with  a  serene  air  of  confident  triumph. 

"Perhaps  you'd  better  come  out  and  see  him,  ma'am," 
she  went  on.  "He — we,  that  is — have  got  somethin'  to 
tell  you.  The  rest  can  come,  too,  if  they  want  to,"  she 
added.  "It's  nothin'  we  want  to  keep  from  you." 

Hannah  Parker  pushed  by  her  and  rushed  for  the 
kitchen.  Imogene  followed  her  and  the  others  followed 
Imogene.  As  Thankful  said,  describing  her  own  feelings, 
"I  couldn't  have  stayed  behind  if  I  wanted  to.  My 
feet  had  curiosity  enough  to  go  by  themselves." 

1 80 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Kenelm,  who  had  been  sitting  by  the  kitchen  table 
before  a  well-filled  plate,  had  heard  his  sister's  approach 
and  had  risen.  When  Mrs.  Barnes  and  the  others  reached 
the  kitchen  he  had  backed  into  a  corner. 

"Kenelm  Parker,"  demanded  Hannah,  "what  are  you 
doin'  here,  this  time  of  night?" 

"I — I  been  eatin'  supper,"  stammered  Kenelm,  "but 
I — I'm  through  now." 

"Through !  Didn't  you  know  your  supper  was  waitin' 
for  you  at  home?  Didn't  I  tell  you  to  come  home  early 
and  have  my  supper  ready?  Didn't " 

Imogene  interrupted.  "I  guess  you  did,  ma'am,"  she 
said,  "but  you  see  I  asked  him  to  stay  here,  so  he  stayed." 

"You  asked  him !  And  he  stayed !  Well,  I  must  say ! 
Kenelm,  have  you  been  eatin'  supper  alone  with  that — 
with  that " 

She  was  too  greatly  agitated  to  finish,  but  as  Kenelm 
did  not  answer,  Imogene  did,  without  waiting. 

"Yes'm,"  she  said,  soothingly.  "It's  all  right.  Kenelm 
and  me  can  eat  together,  if  we  want  to,  I  guess.  We're 
engaged." 

" Engaged  r  Almost  everyone  said  it — everyone  except 
Hannah;  she  could  not  say  anything. 

"Yes,"  replied  Imogene.  "We're  engaged  to  be  mar 
ried.  We  are,  aren't  we,  Kenelm?" 

Kenelm  tried  to  back  away  still  further,  but  the  wall 
was  behind  him  and  he  could  only  back  against  it.  He 
was  pale  and  he  swallowed  several  times. 

"Kenelm,  dear,"  said  Imogene,  "didn't  you  hear  me? 
Tell  your  sister  about  our  bein'  engaged." 

Kenelm's  mouth  opened  and  shut.  "Eh — eh — "  he 
stammered.  "I— I " 

"Don't  be  bashful,"  urged  Imogene.  "We're  engaged 
to  be  married,  ain't  we?" 

181 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Mr.  Parker  gulped,  choked  and  then  nodded.  "Yes," 
he  admitted,  faintly.  "I — I  cal'late  we  be." 

His  sister  took  a  step  forward,  her  arm  raised.  Captain 
Obed  stepped  in  front  of  her. 

"Just  a  minute,  Hannah!  Heave  to!  Come  up  into 
the  wind  a  jiffy.  Let's  get  this  thing  straight.  Kenelm, 
do  you  mean " 

The  gentleman  addressed  seemed  to  mean  very  little, 
just  then.  But  Imogene's  coolness  was  quite  unruffled 
and  again  she  answered  for  him. 

"He  means  just  what  he  said,"  she  declared,  "and 
what  he  said  was  plain  enough,  I  should  think.  I  don't 
know  why  there  should  be  so  much  row  about  it.  Mr. 
Parker  and  I  have  been  good  friends  ever  since  I  come 
here  to  work.  He's  asked  me  to  marry  him  some  time 
or  other  and  I  said  maybe  I  would.  That  makes  us 
engaged,  same's  I've  been  tryin'  to  tell  you.  And  what  all 
this  row  is  about  I  can't  see.  It's  our  business,  ain't  it? 
I  can't  see  as  it's  anybody  else's." 

But  Hannah  was  by  this  time  beyond  holding  back. 
She  pushed  aside  the  captain's  arm  and  faced  the  engaged 
couple.  Her  eyes  flashed  and  her  fingers  twitched. 

"You — you  designin'  critter  you!"  she  shouted,  ad 
dressing  Imogene.  "You  plannin',  schemin',  under 
handed " 

"Shh!  shh!"  put  in  Captain  Obed.  "Easy,  Hannah! 
easy,  there!" 

"I  shan't  be  easy !  You  mind  your  own  affairs,  Obed 
Bangs!  Kenelm  Parker,  how  dare  you  say — how  dare 
you  tell  me  you're  goin'  to  marry  this — this  inmate? 
What  do  you  mean  by  it?" 

Poor  Kenelm  only  gurgled.  His  lady  love  once  more 
came  to  his  rescue. 

"He's  told  you  times  enough  what  he  means,"  she 
182 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

asserted,  firmly.  "And  I'll  thank  you  not  to  call  me  names, 
either.  In  the  first  place  I  won't  stand  it;  and,  in  the 
second,  if  you  and  me  are  goin'  to  be  sisters-in-law,  we'd 
better  learn  how  to  get  along  peaceable  together.  I " 

"Don't  you  talk  to  me !  Don't  you  dare  talk  to  me !  I 
might  have  expected  it !  I  did  expect  it.  So  this  is  why 
you  two  didn't  go  to  the  Fair  ?  You  had  this  all  planned 
between  you.  I  was  to  be  got  out  of  the  way,  and " 

"That's  enough  of  that,  too.  There  wasn't  any  plannin' 
about  it — not  until  today,  anyhow.  I  didn't  know  he 
wasn't  goin'  to  the  Fair  and  he  didn't  know  I  wasn't. 
He  would  have  gone  only — only  you  deserted  him  to  go 
off  with  your  own — your  own  gentleman  friend.  Humph ! 
I  should  think  you  would  look  ashamed !" 

Miss  Parker's  "shame" — or  her  feelings,  whatever  they 
might  be — seemed  to  render  her  speechless.  Her  brother 
saw  his  chance. 

"You  know  that's  just  what  you  done,  Hannah,"  he 
put  in,  pleadingly.  "You  know  you  did.  I  was  so  lone 
some " 

"Hush !  Hush,  Kenelm !"  ordered  Imogene.  "You  left 
him  alone  to  go  with  another  man,  Miss  Parker.  For  all 
he  knew  you  might  be — be  runnin'  off  to  be  married, 
or  somethin'.  So  he  come  to  where  he  had  a  friend, 
that's  all.  And  what  if  he  did?  He  can  get  married, 
if  he  wants  to,  can't  he?  I'd  like  to  know  who'd  stop 
him.  He's  over  twenty-one,  I  guess." 

This  speech  was  too  much  for  Emily;  she  laughed 
aloud.  That  laugh  was  the  final  straw.  Hannah  made  a 
dive  for  her  brother. 

"You  come  home  with  me,"  she  commanded.  "You 
come  right  straight  home  with  me  this  minute.  As  for 
you,"  she  added,  turning  to  Imogene,  "I  shan't  waste 
any  more  words  on  a — on  a  thing  like  you.  After  my 

183 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

brother's  money,  be  you  ?  Thought  you'd  get  him  and  it, 
too,  did  you  ?  Well,  you  shan't !  He'll  come  right  along 
home  with  me  and  there  he'll  stay.  He's  worked  in  this 
place  as  long  as  he's  goin'  to,  Miss  Inmate.  I'll  take 
him  out  of  your  clutches." 

"Oh  no,  you  won't!  Him  and  me  are  goin'  to  the 
Fair  tomorrow  and  on  Monday  he's  comin'  back  to  work 
here  same  as  ever.  You  are,  ain't  you,  Kenelm?" 

Kenelm  gulped  and  fidgeted.  "I — I — I "  he  stut 
tered. 

"You  see,  Hannah,"  continued  Imogene — "I  suppose  I 
might  as  well  begin  to  call  you  'Hannah/  seein'  as  we're 
goin'  to  be  relations  pretty  soon — you  see,  he's  engaged 
to  me  now  and  he'll  do  what  7  ask  him  to,  of  course." 

"Engaged !  He  ain't  engaged !  I'll  fix  the  'engage 
ment.'  That'll  be  broke  off  this  very  minute." 

And  now  Imogene  played  her  best  trump.  She  took 
from  her  waist  a  slip  of  paper  and  handed  it  to  Captain 
Obed. 

"Just  read  that  out  loud,  won't  you,  please,  Cap'n 
Bangs?"  she  asked. 

The  captain  stared  at  the  slip  of  paper.  Then,  in  a 
choked  voice,  he  read  aloud  the  following: 

I,  K'enelm  Issachar  Parker,  being  in  sound  mind  and  know 
ing  what  I  am  doing,  ask  Imogene  to  be  my  wife  and  I  agree 
to  marry  her  any  time  she  wants  me  to. 

(Signed)     KENELM  ISSACHAR  PARKER. 

"There!"  exclaimed  Imogene.  "I  guess  that  settles  it, 
don't  it?  I've  got  witnesses,  anyhow,  and  right  here,  to 
our  engagement.  You  all  heard  us  both  say  we  was 
engaged.  But  that  paper  settles  it.  Kenelm  and  I  knew 
mighty  well  that  you'd  try  to  break  off  the  engagement 
and  say  there  wasn't  any ;  but  you  can't  break  that." 

184 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"I  can't  ?  I  like  to  know  why  I  can't !  What  do  you 
suppose  I  care  for  such  a — a " 

"Well,  if  you  don't,  then  the  law  does.  If  you  make 
your  brother  break  his  engagement  to  me,  Hannah 
Parker,  I'll  take  that  piece  of  paper  right  to  a  lawyer 
and  make  him  sue  Kenelm  for — for  breach  of  promises. 
You  know  what  that  means,  I  guess,  if  you've  read  the 
papers  same  as  I  have.  I  rather  guess  that  paper  would 
give  me  a  good  many  dollars  damage.  If  you  don't 
believe  it  you  try  and  see.  And  there's  two  lawyers 
livin'  right  in  this  house,"  she  added  triumphantly. 

If  she  expected  a  sensation  her  expectations  were  real 
ized.  Hannah  was  again  stricken  dumb.  Captain  Bangs 
and  Emily  and  John  Kendrick  looked  at  each  other,  then 
the  captain  doubled  up  with  laughter.  Mrs.  Barnes  and 
Kenelm,  however,  did  not  laugh.  The  latter  seemed  tre 
mendously  surprised. 

"Why — why,  Imogene,"  he  protested,  "how  you  talk ! 
I  never  thought " 

"Kenelm,  be  still." 

"But,  Imogene,"  begged  Thankful,  "you  mustn't  say 
such  things.  I  never " 

"Now,  ma'am,  please  don't  you  butt  in.  I  know  what 
I'm  doin'.  Please  don't  talk  to  me  now.  There,  Kenelm," 
turning  to  the  trembling  nominee  for  matrimonial  offices, 
"that'll  do  for  tonight.  You  go  along  with  your  sister 
and  be  on  hand  ready  to  take  me  to  the  Cattle  Show 
tomorrow.  Good  night — er — dear." 

Whether  it  was  the  "dear"  that  goaded  Miss  Parker 
into  one  more  assault,  or  whether  she  was  not  yet  ready 
to  surrender,  is  uncertain.  But,  at  all  events,  she  fired 
a  last  broadside. 

"He  shan't  go  with  you  tomorrow,"  she  shrieked.  "He 
shan't;  I  won't  let  him." 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Imogene  nodded.  "All  right,"  she  said,  firmly.  "Then 
if  he  don't  I'll  come  around  tomorrow  and  tell  him  I'm 
ready  to  be  married  right  away.  And  if  he  says  no  to 
that — then — well  then,  I'll  go  straight  to  the  lawyer  with 
that  paper." 

Ten  minutes  later,  when  the  Parkers  had  gone  and  the 
sound  of  Hannah's  tirade  and  Kenelm's  protestations  had 
died  away  on  the  path  toward  their  home,  Thankful, 
John  and  Captain  Obed  sat  gazing  at  each  other  in  the 
living  room.  Imogene  and  Emily  were  together  in  the 
kitchen.  The  "engaged"  young  lady  had  expressed  a 
desire  to  speak  with  Miss  Howes  alone. 

John  and  the  captain  were  still  chuckling,  but  Thank 
ful  refused  to  see  the  joke ;  she  was  almost  in  tears. 

"It's  dreadful !"  she  declared.  "Perfectly  awful !  And 
Imogene !  To  act  and  speak  so  to  our  next-door  neighbor ! 
What  will  come  of  it  ?  And  how  could  she  ?  How  could 
she  get  engaged  to  that  man,  of  all  men  ?  He's  old  enough 
to  be  her  father  and — and  she  can't  care  for  him." 

Emily  entered  the  room.  She  was  apparently  much 
agitated  and  her  eyes  were  moist.  She  collapsed  in  a 
rocking-chair  and  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  face. 

"Land  sakes!"  cried  Captain  Obed.  "Is  it  as  bad  as 
that?  Does  it  make  you  cry?" 

Emily  removed  the  handkerchief.  "I'm  not  crying," 

she  gasped.  "I — I Oh  dear!  This  is  the  funniest 

thing  that  girl  has  done  yet." 

"But  what  is  it?"  asked  John.  "What's  the  answer? 
We're  dying  to  know." 

Emily  shook  her  head.  "I  can't  tell  you,"  she  said. 
"I  promised  I  wouldn't.  It — it  all  came  of  a  talk  Imo 
gene  and  I  had  a  while  ago.  We  were  speaking  of 
self-sacrifice  and  she — she  adores  you,  Auntie,  and " 

Thankful  interrupted.  "Mercy  on  us!"  she  cried. 

186 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Adores  me!  Self-sacrifice!  She  ain't  doin'  this  crazy, 
loony  thing  for  me,  I  hope.  She  ain't  marryin'  that 
Parker  man  because " 

"She  hasn't  married  anyone  yet.  Oh,  it  is  all  right, 
Auntie;  she  knows  what  she  is  doing,  or  she  thinks  she 
does.  And,  at  any  rate,  I  think  there  is  no  danger 
of  Mr.  Parker's  giving  up  his  situation  here  until  you  are 
ready  to  have  him  do  it.  There !  I  mustn't  say  another 
word.  I  have  said  too  much  already." 

Captain  Obed  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "it's  too  thick  off  the  bows  for  me 
to  see  more'n  a  foot;  I  give  in  to  that.  But  I  will  say 
this :  If  that  Imogene  girl  don't  know  what  she's  up  to 
it's  the  fust  time  since  I've  been  acquainted  with  her. 
And  she  sartin  has  spiked  Hannah's  guns.  Either  Han 
nah's  got  to  say  'dum'  when  Imogene  says  'dee'  or  she 
stands  a  chance  to  lose  her  brother  or  his  money,  one 
or  t'other,  and  she'd  rather  lose  the  fust  than  the  last, 
I'll  bet  you.  Ho,  ho!  Yes,  it  does  look  as  if  Imogene 
had  Hannah  in  a  clove  hitch.  .  .  .  Well,  I'm  goin' 
over  to  see  what  the  next  doin's  in  the  circus  is  liable  to 
be.  I  wouldn't  miss  any  of  this  show  for  no  money. 
Good  night." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  next  morning  Kenelm,  arrayed  in  his  best,  was 
early  on  hand  to  escort  the  lady  of  his  choice  to 
the  Fair.    The  lady,  herself,  was  ready  and  the 
pair  drove  away  in  Winnie  S.'s  depot-wagon  bound  for 
Wellmouth  Centre  and  the  train.     Before  she  left  the 
house  Imogene  made  an  earnest  request. 

"If  you  don't  mind,  ma'am,"  she  said,  addressing  Mrs. 
Barnes,  "I  wish  you  wouldn't  say  nothin'  to  nobody  about 
Mr.  Kenelm  and  me  bein'  engaged.  And  just  ask  the 
rest  of  'em  that  heard  the — the  rough-house  last  night 
not  to  say  anything,  either,  please." 

"Why,  Imogene,"  said  Thankful,  "I  didn't  know  you 
wanted  it  to  be  a  secret.  Seems  to  me  you  said  yourself 
that  it  wasn't  any  secret." 

"Yes'm,  I  know  I  did.  Well,  I  suppose  'tain't,  in  one 
way.  But  there  ain't  any  use  in  advertisin'  it,  neither. 
Kenelm,  he's  promised  -to  keep  still." 

"But,  Imogene,  why?  Seems  to  me  if  I  was  willin' 
to  be  engaged  to  that — to  Kenelm,  I  wouldn't  be  ashamed 
to  have  folks  know  it." 

"Oh,  I  ain't  ashamed  exactly.  I  ain't  ashamed  of 
what  I  done,  not  a  bit.  Only  what's  the  use  of  tellin'?" 

"But  you'll  have  to  tell  some  time;  when  you're  mar 
ried,  sartin." 

"Yes'm.     Well,  we  ain't  married — yet." 

"But  you're  goin'  to  be,  I  should  presume  likely." 
188 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Maybe  so;  but  not  for  a  good  while,  anyhow.  If  I 
am  it  won't  make  any  difference  far's  you  and  me  are 
concerned,  ma'am.  Nor  Mr.  Parker,  either;  he'll  stay 
here  and  work  long's  you  want  him,  married  or  not.  And 
so'll  I." 

"Well,  I  suppose  that's  one  comfort,  anyhow.  I  won't 
say  anything  about  your  engagement  and  I'll  ask  the 
others  not  to.  But  folks  are  bound  to  talk,  Imogene. 
Miss  Parker  now — how  are  you  goin'  to  stop  her 
tellin'?" 

Imogene  nodded  knowingly.  "I  shan't  have  to,  I'll  bet 
you,  ma'am,"  she  said.  "She  ain't  so  anxious  to  have  it 
talked  about — not  s'long  as  there's  a  chance  to  break  it 
off,  she  ain't.  She'll  keep  still." 

"Maybe  so,  but  folks'll  suspect,  I  guess.  They'll  think 
somethin's  queer  when  you  and  Kenelm  go  to  the  Cattle 
Show  together  today." 

"No,  they  won't.  Why  should  they?  Didn't  Hannah 
Parker  herself  go  yesterday  with  Mr.  Hammond?  And 
didn't  Mr.  Kendrick  go  with  Miss  Emily?  Yes,  and 
you  with  Cap'n  Bangs?  Lordy,  ma'am,  I " 

"Don't  say  'Lordy,'  Imogene,"  cautioned  Thankful,  and 
hastened  away.  Imogene  looked  after  her  and  laughed 
to  herself. 

When  Captain  Obed  made  his  morning  call  Mrs. 
Barnes  told  him  of  this  conversation. 

"And  how  is  Hannah  this  mornin'?"  asked  Thankful. 
"I  was  surprised  enough  to  see  Kenelm  in  that  depot- 
wagon.  I  never  thought  for  a  minute  she'd  let  him  go." 

The  captain  chuckled.  "Let  him !"  he  repeated.  "Why, 
Hannah  helped  him  get  ready;  picked  out  his  necktie 
for  him  and  loaded  him  up  with  clean  handkerchiefs  and 
land  knows  what.  She  all  but  give  him  her  blessin'  afore 
he  started ;  she  did  say  she  hoped  he'd  have  a  good  time," 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"She  did !  Mercy  on  us !  Is  the  world  comin'  to  an 
end?  Last  night  she  was " 

"Yes,  I  know.  Well,  we've  got  to  give  Hannah  credit ; 
she's  got  a  head  on  her  shoulders,  even  if  the  head  does 
run  pretty  strong  to  mouth.  Imogene's  took  her  measure, 
judgin'  by  what  you  said  the  girl  said  to  you.  Hannah's 
thought  it  over,  I  cal'late,  and  she  figgers  that  while 
there's  life  there's  hope,  as  you  might  say.  Her  brother 
may  be  engaged,  but  he  ain't  married,  and,  s'long's  he 
ain't,  she's  got  a  chance.  You  just  see,  Mrs.  Thankful — 
you  see  if  Hannah  ain't  sweeter  to  Kenelm  from  this 
on  than  a  molasses  jug  stopper  to  a  young  one.  She'll 
lay  herself  out  to  make  his  home  the  softest  spot  in 
creation,  so  he'll  think  twice  before  leavin'  it.  That's 
her  game,  as  I  see  it,  and  she'll  play  it.  Give  Hannah 
credit;  she  won't  abandon  the  ship  while  there's  a  plank 
above  water.  Just  watch  and  see." 

Thankful  looked  doubtful.  "Well,  maybe  so,"  she  said. 
"Maybe  she  will  be  nice  to  her  brother,  but  how  about 
the  rest  of  us?  She  wouldn't  speak  to  me  last  night, 
nor  to  Emily — and  as  for  Imogene !" 

"Yes,  I  know.  But  wait  until  she  sees  you,  or  Imogene 
either,  next  time.  She'll  be  smooth  as  a  smelt.  I'll  bet 
you  anything  she'll  say  that,  after  all,  she  guesses  the 
engagement's  a  good  thing  and  that  Imogene's  a  nice  girl. 
There's  a  whole  lot  in  keepin'  the  feller  you're  fightin' 
off  his  guard  until  you've  got  him  in  a  corner  with  his 
hands  down.  Last  night  Hannah  give  me  my  orders  to 
mind  my  own  business.  This  mornin'  she  cooked  me 
the  best  breakfast  I've  had  since  I  shipped  aboard  her 
vessel.  And  kept  askin'  me  to  have  more.  No,  Imogene's 
right;  Hannah'll  play  the  game,  and  she'll  play  it  quiet. 
As  for  tellin'  anybody  her  brother's  engaged,  you  needn't 
worry  about  that.  She'll  be  the  last  one  to  tell." 

190 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

This  prophecy  seemed  likely  to  prove  true.  The  next 
time  Thankful  met  Hannah  the  latter  greeted  her  like  a 
long-lost  friend.  During  a  long  conversation  she  men 
tioned  the  subject  of  her  brother's  engagement  but  once 
and  then  at  the  very  end  of  the  interview. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,  Mrs.  Thankful,"  she  said,  "I  do  beg 
your  pardon  for  carryin'  on  the  way  I  did  at  your  house 
t'other  night.  The  news  was  pitched  out  at  me  so  sudden 
that  I  was  blowed  right  off  my  feet,  as  you  might  say. 
I  acted  real  unlikely,  I  know ;  but,  you  see,  Kenelm  does 
mean  so  much  to  me  that  I  couldn't  bear  to  think  of  givin' 
him  up  to  anybody  else.  When  I  come  to  think  it  over 
I  realized  'twa'n't  no  more'n  I  had  ought  to  have  ex 
pected.  I  mustn't  be  selfish  and  I  ain't  goin'  to  be. 
S'long's  'tain't  that — that  Jezebel  of  an  Abbie  Larkin  I 
don't  mind  so  much.  I  couldn't  stand  havin'  her  in 
the  family — that  I  couldn't  stand.  Oh,  and  if  you  don't 
mind,  Mrs.  Thankful,  just  don't  say  nothin'  about  the 
engagin'  yet  awhile.  /  shouldn't  mind,  of  course,  but 
Kenelm,  he's  set  on  keepin'  it  secret  for  a  spell.  There ! 
I  must  run  on.  I've  got  to  go  up  to  the  store  and  get  a 
can  of  that  consecrated  soup  for  supper.  Have  you  tried 
them  soups  ?  They're  awful  cheap  and  handy.  You  just 
pour  in  hot  water  and  there's  more'n  enough  for  a  meal. 
Good-by." 

Imogene,  when  she  returned  from  the  Fair,  announced 
that  she  had  had  a  perfectly  lovely  time. 

"He  ain't  such  bad  company — Kenelm,  I  mean,"  she 
observed.  "He  talks  a  lot,  but  you  don't  have  to  listen 
unless  you  want  to;  and  he  enjoys  himself  real  well, 
considerin'  how  little  practice  he's  had." 

"Did  you  meet  anyone  you  knew  ?"  asked  Emily. 

"No'm.  We  saw  quite  a  lot  of  folks  from  East  Well- 
mouth,  but  we  saw  'em  first,  so  we  didn't  meet  'em, 

191 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

One  kind  of  funny  thing  happened:  a  man  who  was 
outside  a  snake  tent,  hollerin'  for  everybody  to  come  in, 
saw  us  and  he  says  to  me:  'Girlie,'  he  says — he  was  a 
fresh  guy  like  all  them  kind — 'Girlie,'  he  says,  'ask  your 
pa  to  take  you  in  and  see  the  Serpent  King  eat  'em  alive. 
Only  ten  cents,  Pop,'  he  says  to  Kenelm.  'Don't  miss 
the  chance  to  give  your  little  girl  a  treat.'  Kenelm  was 
all  frothed  up  at  bein'  took  for  my  father,  but  I  told  him 
he  needn't  get  mad — if  I  could  stand  it  he  could,  I 
guessed." 

Kenelm  reported  for  work  as  usual  on  Monday  morn 
ing  and  he  worked — actually  worked  all  day.  For  an  ac 
cepted  lover  he  appeared  rather  subdued  and  silent.  Cap 
tain  Obed,  who  noticed  his  behavior,  commented  upon  it. 

"Cal'late  Kenelm's  beginnin'  to  realize  gettin'  engaged 
don't  mean  all  joy,"  he  said,  with  a  chuckle.  "He's  just 
got  two  bosses  instead  of  one,  that's  all.  He's  scart  to 
death  of  Hannah  at  home  and  when  he's  here  Imogene 
orders  him  'round  the  way  a  bucko  mate  used  to  order  a 
roustabout.  I  said  Hannah  was  in  a  clove  hitch,  didn't  I  ? 
Well,  she  is,  but  Kenelm — well,  Kenelm's  like  a  young 
one  runnin'  'tiddly'  on  thin  ice — worse'n  that,  'cause  he 
can't  stop  on  either  side,  got  to  keep  runnin'  between 
'em  and  look  out  and  not  fall  in." 

Labor  Day,  the  day  upon  which  the  Cape  summer 
season  really  ends,  did  not,  to  the  High  Cliff  House,  mean 
the  general  exodus  which  it  means  to  most  of  the  Cape 
hotels.  Some  of  Thankful's  lodgers  left,  of  course,  but 
many  stayed,  and  were  planning  to  stay  through  Septem 
ber  if  the  weather  continued  pleasant.  But  on  the  Satur 
day  following  Labor  Day  it  rained.  And  the  next  day  it 
rained  harder,  and  on  Monday  began  a  series  of  cold, 
windy,  gloomy  days  which  threatened  to  last  indefinitely. 
One  after  the  other  the  sojourners  from  the  cities  passed 

192 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

from  grumbling  at  the  weather  to  trunk-packing  and 
leaving.  A  few  stayed  on  into  the  next  week  but  when, 
at  the  end  of  that  week,  a  storm  set  in  which  was  more 
severe  than  those  preceding  it,  even  these  optimists 
surrendered.  Before  that  third  week  was  over  the  High 
Cliff  House  was  practically  deserted.  Except  for  Heman 
Daniels  and  John  Kendrick  and  Miss  Timpson  and  Caleb 
Hammond,  Thankful  and  Emily  and  Imogene  were  alone 
in  the  big  house. 

This  upsetting  of  her  plans  and  hopes  worried  Thank 
ful  not  a  little.  Emily,  too,  was  troubled  concerning  her 
cousin's  business  outlook.  The  High  Cliff  House  had 
been  a  success  during  its  first  season,  but  it  needed  the 
expected  September  and  early  October  income  to  make 
it  a  success  financially.  The  expense  had  been  great, 
much  greater  than  Thankful  had  expected  or  planned. 
It  is  true  that  the  boarders,  almost  without  exception,  had 
re-engaged  rooms  and  board  for  the  following  summer, 
but  summer  was  a  long  way  off.  There  was  the  winter 
to  be  lived  through  and  if,  as  they  had  hoped,  additions 
and  enlargements  to  the  establishment  were  to  be  made 
in  the  spring,  more,  a  good  deal  more  money,  would  be 
needed. 

"As  I  see  it,  Auntie,"  said  Emily,  when  they  discussed 
the  situation,  "you  have  splendid  prospects  here.  Your 
first  season  has  been  all  or  more  than  you  dared  hope  for, 
and  if  we  had  had  good  weather — the  sort  of  weather 
everyone  says  the  Cape  usually  has  in  the  fall  months — 
you  would  have  come  out  even  or  better.  But,  even  then, 
to  make  this  scheme  a  real  money-maker,  you  would  be 
obliged  to  have  more  sleeping-rooms  made  over,  and  a 
larger  dining-room.  Now  why  don't  you  go  and  see 
this — what  is  he? — cousin  of  yours,  Mr.  Cobb,  and  tell 
him  just  how  you  stand?  Tell  him  of  your  prospects 

193 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

and  your  plans,  and  get  him  to  advance  you  another 
thousand  dollars — more,  if  you  can  get  it.  Why  don't 
you  do  that?" 

Thankful  did  not  answer.  She  had  few  secrets  from 
Emily,  whom  she  loved  as  dearly  as  a  daughter,  but  one 
secret  she  had  kept.  Just  why  she  had  kept  this  one 
she  might  not  have  been  able  to  explain  satisfactorily, 
even  to  herself.  She  had  written  Emily  of  her  visit  to 
Solomon  Cobb's  "henhouse"  and  of  the  loan  on  mort 
gage  which  had  resulted  therefrom.  But  she  had  neither 
written  nor  told  all  of  the  circumstances  of  that  visit, 
especially  of  Mr.  Cobb's  attitude  toward  her  and  his 
reluctance  to  lend  the  money.  She  said  merely  that  he 
had  lent  it  and  Emily  had  evidently  taken  it  for  granted 
that  the  loan  was  made  because  of  the  relationship  and 
kindly  feeling  between  the  two.  Thankful,  even  now, 
did  not  undeceive  her.  She  felt  a  certain  shame  in  doing 
so;  a  shame  in  admitting  that  a  relative  of  hers  could 
be  so  mean  and  disobliging. 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  Mr.  Cobb  again,  Auntie?"  re 
peated  Emily.  "He  will  lend  you  more,  I'm  sure,  if  you 
explain  all  the  circumstances.  It  would  be  a  perfectly 
safe  investment  for  him,  and  you  would  pay  interest,  of 
course." 

Mrs.  Barnes  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  think  I'd  better, 
Emily,"  she  said.  "He's  got  one  mortgage  on  this  place 
already." 

"What  of  it?  That  was  only  for  fifteen  hundred  and 
you  have  improved  the  house  and  grounds  ever  so  much 
since  then.  I  think  he'll  be  glad  to  let  you  have  another 
thousand.  The  mortgage  he  has  is  to  run  for  three  years, 
you  said,  didn't  you?" 

Again  Thankful  did  not  answer.  She  had  not  said  the 
mortgage  was  for  a  term  of  three  years ;  Emily  had  pre- 
194 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

sumed  that  it  was  and  she  had  not  undeceived  her.    She 
hesitated,  and  Emily  noticed  her  hesitation. 

"It  is  for  three  years,  isn't  it,  Auntie?"  she  repeated. 

Mrs.  Barnes  tried  to  evade  the  question. 

"Why,  not  exactly,  Emily,"  she  replied.  "It  ain't.  You 
see,  he  thought  three  years  was  a  little  mite  too  long,  and 
so — and  so  we  fixed  up  for  a  shorter  time.  It's  all  right, 
though." 

"Is  it  ?  You  are  sure  ?  Aunt  Thankful,  tell  me  truly : 
how  long  a  term  is  that  mortgage?" 

"Well,  it's — it's  only  for  a  year,  but " 

"A  year  ?  Why,  then  it  will  fall  due  next  spring.  You 
can't  pay  that  mortgage  next  spring,  can  you  ?" 

"I  don't  know's  I  can,  but — but  it'll  be  all  right,  any 
how.  He'll  renew  it,  if  I  ask  him  to,  I  presume  likely." 

"Of  course  he  will.  He  will  have  to.  Auntie,  you  must 
go  and  see  him  at  once.  If  you  don't  I  shall." 

If  there  was  one  point  on  which  Thankful  was  deter 
mined,  it  was  that  Emily  should  not  meet  Solomon  Cobb. 
The  money-lender  had  visited  the  High  Cliff  premises  but 
once  during  the  summer  and  then  Miss  Howes  was  provi 
dentially  absent. 

"No,  no !"  declared  Mrs.  Barnes,  hastily.  "You  shan't 
do  any  such  thing.  The  idea!  I  guess  I  can  'tend  to 
borrowin'  money  from  my  own  relation  without  draggin' 
other  folks  into  it.  I'll  drive  over  and  see  him  pretty 
soon." 

"You  must  go  at  once.  I  shan't  permit  you  to  wait 
another  week.  It  is  almost  time  for  me  to  go  back  to 
my  schoolwork,  and  I  shan't  go  until  I  am  certain  that 
mortgage  is  to  be  renewed  and  that  your  financial  affairs 
are  all  right.  Do  go,  Auntie,  please.  Arrange  to  have 
the  mortgage  renewed  and  try  to  get  another  loan.  Prom 
ise  me  you  will  go  tomorrow." 

195 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

So  Thankful  was  obliged  to  promise,  and  the  following 
morning  she  drove  George  Washington  over  the  long 
road,  now  wet  and  soggy  from  the  rain,  to  Trumet. 

Mr.  Solomon  Cobb's  "henhouse"  looked  quite  as  dingy 
and  dirty  as  when  she  visited  it  before.  Solomon  himself 
was  just  as  shabby  and  he  pulled  at  his  whiskers  with  his 
accustomed  energy. 

"Hello!"  he  said,  peering  over  his  spectacles.  "What 
do  you  want?  .  .  .  Oh,  it's  you,  is  it?  What's  the 
matter?" 

Thankful  came  forward.  "Matter?"  she  repeated. 
"What  in  the  world — what  made  you  think  anything  was 
the  matter  ?" 

Solomon  stared  at  her  fixedly. 

"What  did  you  come  here  for  ?"  he  asked. 

"To  see  you.     That's  worth  comin'  for,  isn't  it?" 

The  joke  was  wasted,  as  all  jokes  seemed  to  be  upon 
Mr.  Cobb.  He  did  not  smile. 

"What  made  you  come  to  see  me?"  he  asked,  still 
staring. 

"What  made  me?" 

"Yes.  What  made  you?  Have  you  found — has  any 
body  told  you — er — anything?" 

"Anybody  told  me!  My  soul  and  body!  That's  what 
you  said  when  I  was  here  before.  Do  you  say  it  to  every 
body?  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  by  it?  Who  would 
tell  me  anything?  And  what  would  they  tell?" 

Solomon  pulled  his  whiskers.  "Nothin',  I  guess,"  he 
said,  after  a  moment.  "Only  there's  so  much  fool  talk 
runnin'  loose  I  didn't  know  but  you  might  have  heard  I 
was — was  dead,  or  somethin'.  I  ain't." 

"I  can  see  that,  I  hope.  And  if  you  was  I  shouldn't 
be  traipsin'  ten  miles  just  to  look  at  your  remains.  Time 
enough  for  that  at  the  funeral.  Dead  !  The  idea !" 

196 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Um — well,  all  right;  I  ain't  dead,  yet.  Set  down, 
won't  ye?" 

Thankful  sat  down.  Mr.  Cobb  swung  about  in  his  own 
chair,  so  that  his  face  was  in  the  shadow. 

"Hear  you've  been  doin'  pretty  well  with  that  boardin'- 
house  of  yours,"  he  observed.  "Hear  it's  been  full  up 
all  summer." 

"Who  told  you  so?" 

"Oh,  I  heard.  I  hear  about  all  that's  goin'  on,  one 
way  or  another.  I  was  over  there  a  fortni't  ago." 

"You  were  ?  Why  didn't  you  stop  in  and  see  me  ?  You 
haven't  been  there  but  once  since  the  place  started." 

"Yes,  I  have.  I've  been  by  a  good  many  times.  Didn't 
stop,  though.  Too  many  of  them  city  dudes  around  to 
suit  me.  Did  you  fetch  your  October  interest  money?" 

"No,  I  didn't.  It  ain't  due  till  week  after  next.  When 
it  is  I'll  send  it,  same  as  I  have  the  rest." 

"All  right,  all  right,  I  ain't  askin'  you  for  it.  What 
did  you  come  for?" 

And  then  Thankful  told  him.  He  listened  without 
comment  until  she  had  finished,  peering  over  his  spectacles 
and  keeping  up  the  eternal  "weeding." 

"There,"  concluded  Mrs.  Barnes,  "that's  what  I  came 
for.  Will  you  do  it?" 

The  answer  was  prompt  enough  this  time. 

"No,  I  won't,"  said  Solomon,  with  decision. 

Thankful  was  staggered. 

"You  won't  ?"  she  repeated.    "You  won't " 

"I  won't  lend  you  no  more  money.    Why  should  I  ?" 

"You  shouldn't,  I  suppose,  if  you  don't  want  to.  But, 
the  way  I  look  at  it,  it  would  be  a  perfectly  safe  loan 
for  you.  My  prospects  are  fine ;  everybody  says  so." 

"Everybody  says  a  whole  lot  of  things.  If  I'd  put  up 
money  on  what  everybody  said  I'd  be  puttin'  up  at  the 

197 


JHANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

poorhouse,  myself.     But  I  ain't  puttin'  up  there  and  I 
ain't  puttin'  up  the  money  neither." 

"All  right;  keep  it  then — keep  it  and  sleep  on  it,  if 
you  want  to.  I  can  get  along  without  it,  I  guess ;  or,  if 
I  can't,  I  can  borrow  it  of  somebody  else." 

"Humph !  You're  pretty  sassy,  seems  to  me,  for  any 
body  that's  askin'  favors." 

"I'm  not  askin'  favors.  I  told  you  that  when  I  first 
come  to  you.  What  I  asked  was  just  business  and  nothin' 
else." 

"Is  that  so?  As  I  understand  it  you're  askin'  to  have 
a  mortgage  renewed.  That  may  be  business,  or  it  may 
be  a  favor,  'cordin'  to  how  you  look  at  it." 

Thankful  fought  down  her  temper.  The  renewal  of 
the  mortgage  was  a  vital  matter  to  her.  If  it  was  not 
renewed  what  should  she  do?  What  could  she  do?  All 
she  had  in  the  world  and  all  her  hopes  for  the  future 
centered  about  her  property  in  East  Wellmouth.  If  that 
were  taken  from  her — 

"Well,"  she  admitted,  "perhaps  it  is  a  favor,  then."    . 

"Perhaps  'tis.  Why  should  I  renew  that  mortgage? 
I  don't  cal'late  to  renew  mortgages,  as  a  general  thing. 
Did  I  say  anything  about  renewin'  it  when  I  took  it? 
I  don't  remember  that  I  did." 

"No,  no — I  guess  you  didn't.  But  I  hope  you  will. 
If  you  don't — I — I — Solomon  Cobb,  that  boardin'-house 
means  everything  to  me.  I've  put  all  I've  got  in  it.  It 
has  got  the  best  kind  of  a  start  and  in  another  year — I — I 
Please,  Oh  please  don't  close  me  out." 

"Humph !" 

"Please  don't.  You  told  me  when  I  was  here  before 
what  a  lot  you  thought  of  my  Uncle  Abner.  You  knew 
how  much  he  thought  of  me.  When  you  think  of  him 

and  what  he  said " 

108 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Mr.  Cobb  interrupted.  "Said?"  he  repeated,  sharply. 
"What  do  you  mean  he  said  ?  Eh  ?  What  do  you  know 
he  said?" 

"Why — why,  he  told  you  about  me.  You  said  yourself 
he  did.  How  much  he  thought  of  me,  and  all." 

"Is  that  all  you  meant?" 

"Yes,  of  course.  What  else  is  there  to  mean?  Solo 
mon,  you  profess  to  be  a  Christian.  You  knew  my  uncle. 
He  did  lots  of  favors  for  you ;  I  know  he  did.  Now " 

"Sshh!  shh!"  Mr.  Cobb  seemed  strangely  perturbed. 
He  waved  his  hand.  "Hush!"  he  repeated.  "What  are 
you  draggin'  Cap'n  Abner  and  Christianity  and  all  that 
in  for  ?  They  ain't  got  nothin'  to  do  with  that  mortgage. 
Who  said  they  had?" 

"Why,  no  one  said  it.  No  one  said  anything;  no  one 
but  me.  I  don't  know  what  you  mean 

"Mean !  I  don't  mean  nothin'.  There !  There !  Clear 
out  and  don't  bother  me  no  more  today.  I'm — I  ain't 
feelin'  well.  Got  a  cold  comin'  on,  I  cal'late.  Clear  off 
home  and  let  me  alone." 

"But  I  can't  go  until  you  tell  me  about  that  mortgage." 

"Yes,  you  can,  too.  I  can't  tell  you  about  nothin'  just 
now.  I  got  to  think,  ain't  I?  Maybe  I'll  renew  that 
mortgage  and  maybe  I  won't.  I'll  tell  you  when  I  make 
up  my  mind.  Time  enough  between  now  and  spring. 

I Ah,  Ezry,  how  be  you?     Come  on  in.     Glad  to 

see  you." 

The  last  portion  of  the  foregoing  was  addressed  to 
a  man  who  had  entered  the  office.  Mr.  Cobb  did  look 
as  if  he  was  really  glad  to  see  him. 

Thankful  rose.  "I'll  go,"  she  said,  drearily.  "I  sup 
pose  I  might  as  well.  But  I  shan't  sleep  much  until  you 
make  up  that  mind  of  yours.  And  do  make  it  up  the  right 
way,  for  my  sake — and  Uncle  Abner's." 

199 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Her  relative  waved  both  hands  this  time. 

"Shh!"  he  ordered,  desperately.  "Don't  say  no  more 
now;  I  don't  want  the  whole  creation  to  know  my  busi 
ness  and  yours.  Go  on  home.  I — I'll  come  over  and 
see  you  by  and  by." 

So,  because  she  saw  there  was  no  use  remaining,  Mrs. 
Barnes  went.  The  drive  home,  through  the  dismal  gray- 
ness  of  the  cloudy  afternoon,  seemed  longer  and  more 
trying  than  the  trip  over.  The  dream  of  raising 
money  for  the  spring  additions  and  alterations  was 
over;  the  High  Cliff  House  must  do  its  best  as  it  was 
for  another  year  at  least.  As  to  the  renewal  of  the 
mortgage,  there  was  a  faint  hope.  Mr.  Cobb's  final  re 
marks  had  inspired  that  hope.  He  had  been  on  the 
point  of  refusing  to  renew,  Thankful  was  sure  of 
that.  Then  something  was  said  which  caused  him  to 
hesitate.  Mrs.  Barnes  looked  out  between  the  ears  of 
jogging  George  Washington  and  spoke  her  thought 
aloud. 

"It's  somethin'  to  do  with  Uncle  Abner,"  she  solilo 
quized.  "He  don't  like  to  have  Uncle  Abner  mentioned. 
Hum!  I  wonder  what  the  reason  is.  I  only  wish  I 
knew." 

To  Emily,  who  was  eagerly  waiting  to  hear  the  result 
of  her  cousin's  visit  to  Solomon  Cobb,  Thankful  told  but 
a  portion  of  the  truth.  She  did  say,  however,  that  the 
additional  loan  appeared  to  be  out  of  the  question  and 
she  guessed  they  would  have  to  get  on  without  the  needed 
alterations  for  another  year.  Emily  thought  they  should 
not. 

"If  this  place  is  to  become  really  profitable,  Auntie," 
she  insisted,  "those  changes  should  be  made.  I  don't  see 
why  this  Mr.  Cobb  won't  lend  you  the  money ;  but,  if  he 
won't,  then  I'm  sure  someone  else  will,  if  you  ask.  Don't 

200 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

you  know  anyone  here  in  East  Wellmouth  whom  you 
might  ask  for  a  loan — on  your  prospects?" 

"No.     No,  I  don't." 

"Why,  yes,  you  do.  There  is  Captain  Bangs,  for 
instance.  He  is  well  to  do,  and  I'm  sure  he  is  a  good 
friend.  Why  don't  you  ask  him  ?" 

Thankful's  answer  was  prompt  and  sharp. 

"Indeed  I  shan't,"  she  declared. 

"Then  I  will.     I'll  be  glad  to." 

"Emily  Howes,  if  you  say  one  word  to  Cap'n  Obed 
about  borrowin'  money  from  him  I'll — I'll  never  speak 
to  you  afterwards.  Go  to  Captain  Obed.  The  idea !" 

"But  why  not,  Auntie  ?    He  is  a  friend,  and " 

"Of  course  he  is ;  that's  the  very  reason.  He  is  a  friend 
and  he'd  probably  lend  it  because  he  is,  whether  he  knew 
he'd  ever  get  it  back  or  not.  No,  when  I  borrow  money 
it'll  be  of  somebody  that  lends  it  as  a  business  deal,  not 
from  friendship." 

"But,  Auntie,  you  went  to  Mr.  Cobb  because  he  was 
your  relative.  You  said  that  was  the  very  reason  why 
you  went  to  him." 

"Urn,  yes.  Well,  I  may  have  gone  to  him  for  that 
reason,  but  there  ain't  any  relationship  in  that  mortgage 
of  his;  don't  you  get  the  notion  that  there  is." 

Emily's  next  question,  naturally,  concerned  the  renewal 
of  that  mortgage.  Mrs.  Barnes  said  shortly  that  she 
guessed  the  renewal  would  be  all  right. 

"He's  comin'  over  to  settle  it  with  me  pretty  soon," 
she  added.  "Now  don't  worry  your  head  off  any  more 
about  mortgages  and  loans,  Emily.  You're  goin'  to  leave 
me  pretty  soon ;  let's  not  spend  our  last  days  together 
f rettin'  about  money.  That  mortgage  is  all  right.  Maybe 
the  extra  loan  will  be,  too.  Maybe — why,  maybe  Mr. 
Kendrick  would  lend  it,  if  I  asked  him." 

20 1 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Mr.  Kendrick?  Why,  Auntie,  Mr.  Kendrick  has  no 
money,  or  only  a  very  little.  He  is  doing  well — very 
well,  considering  how  short  a  time  he  has  practised  his 
profession  here,  but  I'm  sure  he  has  no  money  to  lend. 
Why,  he  tells  me " 

The  expression  of  Mrs.  Barnes'  face  must  have  con 
veyed  a  meaning ;  at  any  rate  Emily's  sentence  broke  off 
in  the  middle.  She  colored  and  seemed  embarrassed. 

Thankful  smiled.  "Yes,"  she  observed,  drily,  "I  notice 
he  tells  you  a  lot  of  things — a  whole  lot  more  than  he 
does  anybody  else.  Generally  speakin',  he  is  about  the 
closest-mouthed  young  man  about  his  personal  affairs 
that  I  ever  run  across.  However,  I  ain't  jealous,  not  a 
mite.  And  'twa'n't  of  him  I  was  speakin';  'twas  his 
cousin,  Mr.  E.  Holliday  Kendrick.  He's  got  money 
enough,  I  guess.  Maybe  he  might  make  a  loan  on  decent 
security.  He's  a  possibility.  I'll  think  him  over." 

Mr.  E.  Holliday  and  his  doings  were  still  East  Well- 
mouth's  favorite  conversational  topics.  The  great  man 
was  preparing  to  close  his  summer  house  and  return  to 
New  York.  His  family  had  already  gone — to  Lenox, 
where  they  were  to  remain  for  a  few  weeks  and  then 
journey  to  Florida.  E.  Holliday  remained,  several  of 
the  servants  remaining  with  him,  but  he,  too,  was  to  go 
very  soon.  There  were  rumors  that  he  remained  because 
of  other  schemes  concerning  his  new  estate.  Just  what 
those  schemes  were  no  one  seemed  to  know.  If  John 
Kendrick  knew  he  told  no  one,  not  even  Emily  Howes. 
;  But  E.  Holliday  himself  disclosed  his  plan  and  it  was 
to  Thankful  Barnes  that  he  did  so.  He  called  at  the  High 
Cliff  House  one  afternoon  and  asked  to  see  its  proprie 
tor.  Thankful  was  a  trifle  flustered.  It  was  the  first  call 
which  her  wealthy  neighbor  had  made  upon  her,  and  she 
could  not  understand  why  he  came  at  this  late  date. 

202 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"For  mercy  sakes,  come  into  the  livin'-room  with  me, 
Emily,"  she  begged.  "I  shan't  know  how  to  act  in  the 
face  of  all  that  money." 

Emily  was  much  amused.  "I  never  knew  you  to  be 
frightened  of  money  before,  Auntie,"  she  said.  "I 
thought  you  were  considering  borrowing  some  of  this 
very — ahem — personage." 

"Maybe  I  was,  though  I  cal'late  I  should  have  took  it 
out  in  consideration ;  I  never  would  have  gone  to  him 
and  asked.  But  now  the — what  do  you  call  it? — per 
sonage — come  to  me  for  somethin',  the  land  knows  what." 
[  "Perhaps  he  wants  to  borrow." 

"Humph!  Perhaps  he  does.  Well,  then,  he's  fishin' 
in  the  wrong  puddle.  Emily  Howes,  stop  laughin'  and 
makin'  jokes  and  come  into  that  livin'-room  same  as  I 
ask  you  to." 

But  this  Emily  firmly  declined  to  do.  "He's  not  my 
caller,  Auntie,"  she  said.  "He  didn't  even  ask  if  I  were 
in." 

So  Thankful  went  into  the  living-room  alone  to  meet 
the  personage.  And  she  closed  all  doors  behind  her.  "If 
you  won't  help  you  shan't  listen,"  she  declared.  "And  I 
don't  know's  I'll  tell  you  a  word  after  he's  gone." 

The  call  was  a  long  one.  It  ended  in  an  odd  way. 
Emily,  sitting  by  the  dining-room  window,  heard  the 
front  door  slam  and,  looking  out,  saw  Mr.  Kendrick  stalk 
ing  down  the  path,  a  frown  on  his  face  and  outraged 
dignity  in  his  bearing.  A  moment  later  Thankful  burst 
into  the  dining-room.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed  and  she 
looked  excited  and  angry. 

"What  do  you  think  that — that  walkin'  money-bag 
came  here  for?"  she  demanded.  "He  came  here  to  tell 
me  I'd  got  to  sell  this  place  to  him.  Yes,  sell  it  to  him, 
'cause  he  wanted  it.  It  didn't  seem  to  make  any  differ- 

203 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

ence  what  I  wanted.  Well,  it  will  make  a  difference,  I 
tell  you  that !" 

When  she  had  calmed  sufficiently  she  told  of  the  inter 
view  with  her  neighbor.  E.  Holliday  had  lost  no  time  in 
stating  his  position.  The  High  Cliff  House,  it  appeared, 
was  a  source  of  annoyance  to  him  and  his.  A  boarding- 
house,  no  matter  how  genteel  or  well-conducted  a  board 
ing-house  it  may  be,  could  not  longer  be  tolerated  in  that 
situation.  The  boarders  irritated  him  by  trespassing 
upon  his  premises,  by  knocking  their  tennis  balls  into 
his  garden  beds,  by  bathing  and  skylarking  on  the  beach 
in  plain  sight  from  his  verandas.  And  the  house  and 
barn  fciterfered  with  his  view.  He  wished  to  be  perfectly 
reasonable  in  the  matter;  Mrs.  Barnes,  of  course,  under 
stood  that.  He  was  willing  to  pay  for  the  privilege  of 
having  his  own  way.  But,  boiled  down  and  shorn  of 
politeness  and  subterfuge,  his  proposition  was  that 
Thankful  should  sell  her  property  to  him,  after  which 
he  would  either  tear  down  the  buildings  on  that  property, 
or  move  them  to  a  less  objectionable  site. 

"But,  Auntie,"  cried  Emily,  "of  course  you  told  him 
you  didn't  want  to  sell." 

"Sartin  I  did.  I  told  him  all  I  had  was  invested  here, 
that  my  first  season  had  been  a  good  one  considerin' 
'twas  the  first,  and  that  my  prospects  were  all  I  had  a 
right  to  hope  for.  I  told  him  I  was  sorry  if  my  boarders 
had  plagued  him  and  I'd  try  to  see  they  didn't  do  so  any 
more.  But  I  couldn't  think  of  sellin'  out." 

"And  what  did  he  say  to  that?" 

"What  didn't  he  say?  What  /  said  didn't  make  a  bit 
of  difference.  He  made  proclamation  that  any  reason 
able  price  I  might  name  he  would  consider.  He  wouldn't 
submit  to  what  he  called  'extortion'  of  course,  but  he 
would  be  perfectly  fair,  and  all  that.  I  kept  sayin'  no 

204 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

and  he  kept  sayin'  yes.  Our  talk  got  more  and  more 
sultry  long  towards  the  last  of  it.  He  told  me  that  he 
made  it  a  p'int  to  get  what  he  wanted  and  he  was  goin' 
to  get  it  now.  One  thing  he  told  me  I  didn't  know  afore, 
and  it's  kind  of  odd,  too.  He  said  the  land  this  house 
sits  on  used  to  belong  to  him  once.  His  father  left  it 
to  him.  He  sold  it  a  long  while  ago,  afore  my  Uncle 
Abner  bought,  I  guess.  Now  he's  sorry  he  sold." 

"That  was  queer,  what  else  did  he  say?" 

"Oh,  he  said  a  whole  lot  about  his  desire  to  make 
East  Wellmouth  his  permanent  residence,  about  the  taxes 
he  paid,  and  what  he  meant  to  do  for  the  town.  I  told 
him  that  was  all  right  and  fine  and  the  town  appreciated 
it,  but  that  I'd  got  to  think  of  myself ;  this  boardin'-house 
idea  was  a  life-long  ambition  of  mine  and  I  couldn't 
give  it  up." 

"And  how  did  it  end?" 

"Just  where  it  begun.  His  last  words  to  me  was  that 
if  I  wouldn't  listen  to  reason  then  he'd  have  to  try  other 
ways.  And  he  warned  me  that  he  should  try  'em.  I 
said  go  ahead  and  try,  or  words  not  quite  so  sassy  but 
meanin'  the  same.  And  out  he  marched.  Oh,  Emily, 
what  do  you  suppose  he'll  try?  He  can't  make  me 
sell  out,  can  he?  Oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear!  here's  more 
trouble.  And  I  thought  there  was  enough  already!" 

Emily  did  her  best  to  reassure  her  relative,  telling  the 
latter  that  of  course  she  could  not  be  forced  into  parting 
with  what  was  her  own  and  that  Mr.  Kendrick  was  talk 
ing  merely  for  effect ;  but  it  was  plain  that  Miss  Howes 
herself  was  troubled. 

"I  think  you  should  consult  a  lawyer,  Auntie,"  she  said. 
"I  am  sure  I  am  right,  and  that  that  man  can't  make  you 
do  what  you  don't  want  to  do.  But  I  don't  know,  of 
course,  and  a  lawyer  would  know  because  that  is  his 

205 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

business.  Why  don't  you  ask  John — Mr.  John  Kendrick, 
I  mean?  He  will  advise  you." 

Thankful  nodded.     "I  will,"  she  said. 

But  John  did  not  come  home  for  dinner  that  night. 
He  had  business  which  called  him  to  Wellmouth  Centre 
that  afternoon  and  it  was  late  in  the  evening  when  he 
returned.  Heman  Daniels  was  late  for  dinner  also,  and 
when  he  entered  the  dining-room  there  was  an  air  of 
mystery  and  importance  about  him  which  everyone  no 
ticed.  Miss  Timpson,  who  seldom  permitted  reticence  to 
interfere  with  curiosity,  asked  him  what  was  the 
matter. 

"I  do  declare,  Mr.  Daniels,"  she  said,  "you  look  as  if 
you  had  the  cares  of  the  nation  on  your  shoulders  tonight. 
Has  anything  gone  wrong  with  one  of  those  important 
cases  of  yours  ?" 

Mr.  Daniels  shook  his  head.  "No,"  he  answered, 
gravely.  "My  cases  are  progressing  satisfactorily.  My 
worries  just  now  are  not  professional.  I  heard  some 
news  this  afternoon  which — er — upset  me  somewhat,  that 
is  all." 

"News?  Upsettin'  news?  Land  sakes,  do  tell  us! 
What  is  it?" 

But  Mr.  Daniels  refused  to  tell.  The  news  concerned 
other  people,  he  said,  and  he  was  not  at  liberty  to  tell. 
He  trusted  Miss  Timpson  would  excuse  him  under  the 
circumstances. 

Miss  Timpson  was  therefore  obliged  to  excuse  him, 
though  it  was  plain  that  she  did  so  under  protest.  She 
made  several  more  or  less  direct  attempts  to  learn  the 
secret  and,  failing,  went  out  to  attend  prayer-meeting. 
Caleb  Hammond  went  out  also,  though  the  club,  not 
prayer-meeting,  was  his  announced  destination.  Heman 
finished  his  dinner  alone.  When  he  had  finished  he  sent 

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THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

word  by  Imogene  that  when  Miss  Howes  was  at  liberty 
he  should  like  to  speak  with  her. 

Emily,  who  was  in  the  kitchen  with  Thankful  and 
Captain  Obed,  the  latter  having,  as  usual,  dropped  in 
on  his  way  to  the  postoffice,  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  speak 
with  Mr.  Daniels.  It  was  not  until  half  an  hour  later, 
when  the  message  was  repeated,  that  she  bade  the  captain 
good  night  and  started  for  the  living-room.  Captain 
Obed  and  Thankful  smiled  at  each  other. 

"Heman's  a  heap  more  anxious  to  see  her  than  she  is 
to  see  him,"  observed  the  former.  "He's  pretty  fur  gone 
in  that  direction,  judgin'  by  the  weather  signs." 

Thankful  nodded. 

"I  cal'late  that's  so,"  she  agreed.  "Still,  he's  been  just 
as  fur  gone  with  others,  if  all  they  say's  true.  Mr. 
Daniels  is  a  fascinator,  so  everybody  says." 

"Yup.  Prides  himself  on  it,  always  seemed  to  me. 
But  there  generally  comes  a  time  when  that  kind  of  a 
lady-killer  gets  hit  himself.  Lots  of  females  have  been 
willin'  to  marry  Heman,  but  he's  never  given  'em  the 
chance.  About  so  fur  he'll  go  and  then  shy  off." 

"How  about  that  widow  woman  over  to  Bayport  ?" 

"Well,  I  did  think  he  was  goin'  to  cast  anchor  there, 
but  he  ain't,  up  to  now.  That  widow's  wuth  a  lot  of 
money — her  husband  owned  any  quantity  of  cranberry 
bog  property — and  all  hands  cal'lated  Heman  had  his  eye 
on  it.  Maybe  he  and  the  widow  would  have  signed 
articles  only  for  Miss  Howes  heavin'  in  sight." 

"Well,  I  suppose  he's  a  good  man;  I  never  heard  a 
word  against  him  that  way.  And  he's  a  risin'  lawyer " 

"Yes— or  riz." 

"Yes.  But — but  I  somehow  wouldn't  want  Emily  to 
marry  him." 

Captain  Obed  agreed  heartily.  "Neither  would  I,"  he 
207 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

declared.  Then,  after  a  moment,  he  added :  "Hasn't  it 
seemed  to  you  that  John  Kendrick  was  kind  of — well, 
kind  of  headin'  up  towards — towards — — " 

"Yes.  Ye-es,  I  have  thought  so.  I  joke  Emily  a  little 
about  him  sometimes." 

"So  do  I,  John.  How  do  you  think  she" — with  a  jerk 
of  the  head  toward  the  living-room — "feels — er — that 
way?" 

"I  don't  know.  She  likes  him,  I'm  sure  of  that.  But, 
so  fur  as  I  know,  there's  no  understandin'  between  them. 
And,  anyhow,  John  couldn't  think  of  gettin'  married, 
not  for  a  long  spell.  He  hasn't  got  any  money." 

"No,  not  yet  he  ain't,  but  he  will  have  some  day,  or  I 
miss  my  guess.  He's  gettin'  more  popular  on  the  Cape 
all  the  time,  and  popular  in  the  right  places,  too.  Why, 
the  last  time  I  was  in  South  Denboro  Cap'n  Elisha  War 
ren  spoke  to  me  about  him,  and  if  Cap'n  'Lisha  gets 
interested  in  a  young  feller  it  means  a  lot.  'Lisha's  got 
a  lot  of  influence." 

"You  say  you  joke  with  John  about  Emily.  How's 
he  take  the  jokes?" 

"Oh,  he  takes  'em  all  right.  You  can't  get  him  mad 
by  teasin'  him,  'cause  he  won't  tease.  He  generally  comes 
right  back  at  me  about — er — that  is " 

"About  what?" 

"Oh — nothin'.  Just  nonsense,  that's  all.  Well,  I  cal'late 
I'd  better  be  goin'  if  I  want  to  fetch  the  postoffice  afore 
it's  shut  up." 

But  he  was  destined  not  to  "fetch"  the  postoffice  that 
night.  He  had  risen  to  go  when  the  dining-room  door 
opened  and  Emily  appeared.  Her  face  was  flushed,  and 
she  seemed  excited  and  angry. 

"Auntie,"  she  said,  sharply,  "Auntie,  will  you  come 
into  the  living-room  a  moment.  I  want  you  to  hear  what 

208 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

that — what  Mr.  Daniels  says.  Don't  stop  to  talk.  Come ! 
Captain  Bangs,  you  may  come,  too.  You  are — are  his 
friend  and  you  should  hear  it." 

Surprised  and  puzzled,  Thankful  and  the  captain  fol 
lowed  her  through  the  dining-room  to  the  living-room. 
There  they  found  Heman  Daniels,  standing  by  the  center 
table,  looking  embarrassed  and  uncomfortable. 

"Now,  Mr.  Daniels,"  said  Emily,  "I  want  you  to  tell 
my  cousin  and  Captain  Bangs  just  what  you  have  told 
me.  It's  not  true — I  know  it's  not  true,  and  I  want 
them  to  be  able  to  contradict  such  a  story.  Tell 
them." 

Heman  fidgeted  with  the  paper-cutter  on  the  table. 

"I  merely  told  Miss  Howes,"  he  said,  nervously,  "what 
was  told  me.  It  was  told  me  by  one  of  the  parties  most 
interested  and  so  I  accepted  it  as  the  truth.  I — I  have 
no  personal  interest  in  the  matter.  As — as  a  friend  and 
— and  a  lawyer — I  offered  my  services,  that  is  all.  I " 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  opening  of  the  front  door. 
John  Kendrick,  wearing  his  light  overcoat,  and  hat  in 
hand,  entered  the  living-room. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry  to  be  so  late,  Mrs.  Barnes,"  he 
began.  "I  was  detained  at  the  Centre.  Hello,  Captain! 
Good  evening,  Daniels!  Good  evening,  Miss  Howes!" 

Captain  Obed  and  Thankful  said,  "Good  evening." 
Neither  Emily  nor  Heman  returned  the  greeting.  John, 
for  the  first  time,  appeared  to  notice  that  something  was 
wrong.  He  looked  from  Mrs.  Barnes  to  Captain  Bangs, 
standing  together  at  one  side  of  the  table,  and  at  Daniels 
and  Emily  at  the  other  side.  Heman  had  moved  closer 
to  the  young  lady,  and  in  his  manner  was  a  hint  of  con 
fidential  understanding,  almost  of  protection. 

Kendrick  looked  from  one  pair  to  the  other.  When 
he  next  spoke  it  was  to  Emily  Howes. 

209 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  he  asked,  with  a  smile. 
"This  looks  like  a  council  of  war." 

Emily  did  not  smile. 

"Mr.  Kendrick,"  she  said,  "I  am  very  glad  you  came. 
Now  you  can  deny  it  yourself." 

John  gazed  at  her  in  puzzled  surprise. 

"Deny  it  ?"  he  repeated.    "Deny  what  ?" 

Before  Miss  Howes  could  answer  Heman  Daniels 
spoke. 

"Kendrick,"  he  said,  importantly,  "Miss  Howes  has 
heard  something  concerning  you  which  she  doesn't  like 
to  believe." 

"Indeed?    Did  she  hear  it  from  you,  may  I  ask?" 

"She  did." 

"And  that  is  why  she  doesn't  believe  it?  Daniels,  I'm 
surprised.  Even  lawyers  should  occasionally " 

Emily  interrupted.  "Oh,  stop!"  she  cried.  "Don't 
joke,  please.  This  is  not  a  joking  matter.  If  what  I 

have  been  told  is  true  I  should But  I  know  it  isn't 

— I  know  it!" 

John  bowed.  "Thank  you,"  he  said.  "What  have  you 
heard?" 

"She  has  heard "  began  Heman. 

"Pardon  me,  Daniels.     I  asked  Miss  Howes." 

Emily  began  a  reply,  but  she  did  not  finish  it. 

"I  have  been  told — "  she  began.  "I  have  been  told 

Oh,  I  can't  tell  you!  I  am  ashamed  to  repeat  such 
wicked  nonsense.  Mr.  Daniels  may  tell  you;  it  was  he 
who  told  me." 

John  turned  to  his  fellow  practitioner. 

"Very  well,"  he  said.    "Now,  Daniels,  what  is  it?" 

Heman  did  not  hesitate. 

"Miss  Howes  has  heard,"  he  said,  deliberately,  "that 
your  client,  Mr.  Holliday  Kendrick,  is  determined  to  force 

210 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Mrs.  Barnes  here  into  selling  him  this  house  and  land, 
to  force  her  to  sell  whether  she  wishes  it  or  not.  Is  that 
true?" 

John  nodded,  gravely. 

"I'm  afraid  it  is,"  he  said.  "He  seems  quite  deter 
mined.  In  fact,  he  said  he  had  expressed  that  determina 
tion  to  the  lady  herself.  He  did  that,  didn't  he,  Mrs. 
Barnes?" 

Thankful,  who  had  been  so  far  a  perplexed  and  trou 
bled  listener,  answered. 

"Why,  yes,"  she  admitted.  "He  was  here  today  and 
he  give  me  to  understand  that  he  wanted  this  property 
of  mine  and  was  goin'  to  have  it.  If  I  wouldn't  agree 
to  sell  it  to  him  now  then  he'd  drive  me  into  sellin'  later 
on.  That's  about  what  he  said." 

Captain  Obed  struck  his  fists  together. 

"The  swab!"  he  exclaimed.  "Well,  if  that  don't  beat 
all  my  goin'  to  sea !  Humph !  I'd  like  to  know  how  he 
cal'lates  to  do  it." 

"Anything  more,  Daniels  ?"  inquired  John. 

"Yes,  there  is  something  more.  What  we  want  to 
know  from  you,  Kendrick,  is  whether  or  not  you,  as 
his  legal  adviser,  propose  to  help  him  in  this  scheme  of 
his.  That  is  what  we  wish  to  know." 

"We?  What  we?  Has  Mrs.  Barnes — or  Miss  Howes 
— have  they  engaged  you  as  their  attorney,  Daniels  ?" 

Before  Daniels  could  reply  Emily  asked  a  question. 

"Did  he — has  he  asked  you  to  help  him?"  she  de 
manded.  "Has  he?" 

John  smiled.  "I  doubt  if  it  could  be  called  asking," 
he  observed.  "He  gave  me  orders  to  that  effect  shortly 
after  he  left  here." 

Emily  gasped.  Thankful  and  Captain  Obed  said, 
"Oh!"  in  concert.  Heman  Daniels  smiled  triumphantly. 

311 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"You  see,  Miss  Howes?"  he  said. 

"One  moment,  Daniels,"  broke  in  Kendrick,  sharply. 
"You  haven't  answered  my  question  yet.  Just  where 
do  you  come  in  on  this  ?" 

"I — I "  began  Daniels,  but  once  more  Emily  in 
terrupted. 

"Are  you "  she  cried.     "Tell  me;  are  you  going 

to  help  that  man  force  my  cousin  into  giving  up  her 
home  ?" 

Again  John  smiled.  "Well,  to  be  frank,"  he  said, 
"since  it  is  her  home  and  she  doesn't  wish  to  sell  it  I  can't 
for  the  life  of  me  see  how  she  can  be  forced  into  selling, 
with  or  without  my  valuable  aid.  Miss  Howes,  I " 

"Stop!  You  persist  in  treating  this  affair  as  a  joke. 
It  is  not  a  joke — to  my  cousin,  or  to  me.  Did  you  tell 
that  man  you  would  help  him  ?" 

"No." 

"I  knew  it!  I  was  certain  of  it!  Of  course  you 
didn't!" 

"Pardon  me,  Miss  Howes,"  put  in  Daniels.  "We  have 
not  heard  all  yet.  Kendrick,  do  I  understand  that  you 
told  your  cousin  and — er — benefactor  that  you  would  not 
help  him  in  his  infamous  scheme?" 

John's  patience  was  nearing  its  limits.  He  smiled  no 
more. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  understand,  Daniels,"  he  said, 
crisply.  "Your  understanding  in  many  matters  is  be 
yond  me." 

"But  did  you  say  you  would  not  help  him?"  persisted 
Emily. 

"Why  no,  not  exactly.  He  did  not  wait  to  hear  what 
I  had  to  say.  He  seemed  to  take  my  assistance  for 
granted." 

Daniels  laughed  scornfully. 
212 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"You  see,  Miss  Howes?"  he  said  again.  Then,  turning 
to  Thankful:  "Mrs.  Barnes,  I  met  Mr.  Holliday  Ken- 
drick  on  the  street  just  after  he  had  come  from  the  inter 
view  with  his — er — attorney.  He  told  me  that  he  in 
tended  to  force  you  into  giving  up  your  property  to  him 
and  he  told  me  also  that  his  cousin  here  had  the  case 
in  his  hands  and  would  work  to  carry  it  through.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  doubt  in  his  mind  that  this  gentleman," 
indicating  John,  "had  accepted  the  responsibility.  In  fact 
he  said  he  had." 

Captain  Obed  snorted.  "That's  plaguy  nonsense!"  he 
declared.  "I  know  better.  John  ain't  that  kind  of  feller. 
You  wouldn't  help  anybody  to  turn  a  woman  out  of  her 
house  and  home,  would  you,  John  ?  Course  you  wouldn't. 
The  swab!  Just  'cause  he's  got  money  he  cal'lates  he 
can  run  everything.  Well,  he  can't." 

"Goodness  knows  I  hope  he  can't!"  moaned  Thankful. 

"And  in  the  meantime  we  are  waiting  to  hear  what  his 
lawyer  has  to  say,"  observed  Heman. 

John  stepped  forward.  "Daniels,"  he  said,  "it  strikes 
me  that  your  'we's'  are  a  bit  frequent.  Why  are  you 
interfering  in  this  affair  ?" 

Mr.  Daniels  drew  himself  up.  "I  am  not  interfering," 
he  replied.  "My  interest  is  purely  that  of  a  friend.  As 
a  friend  I  told  Miss  Howes  what  your  cousin  said  to 
me.  She  seemed  to  doubt  my  word.  In  justice  to  myself 
I  propose  to  prove  that  I  have  spoken  the  truth,  that  is  all. 
So  far  I  think  I  may  say  that  I  have  proved  it.  Now  I 
demand  to  know  what  you  intend  doing.  Are  you  for 
Mrs.  Barnes  or  against  her?" 

"So  you  demand  that,  do  you?" 

"I  do.    Will  you  answer?" 

"No." 

"Ah  ha!  I  thought  not." 

213 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"I'll  answer  no  demands  from  you.  Why  should  I? 
If  Mrs.  Barnes  or  Miss  Howes  asks  me  I  will  answer, 
of  course." 

"Mr.  Kendrick "  began  Thankful.  Emily  inter 
rupted. 

"Wait,  Auntie,"  she  said.  "He  must  answer  me  first. 
Mr.  Kendrick,  when  that  man  came  to  you  with  his 
'orders/  as  you  call  them,  you  must  have  had  some  oppor 
tunity  to  speak.  Why  didn't  you  refuse  at  once?" 

For  the  first  time  John  hesitated.  "Well,"  he  said, 
slowly,  "for  one  reason  I  was  taken  completely  by  sur 
prise." 

"So  was  Aunt  Thankful,  when  he  came  to  her.  But 
she  refused." 

"And,  for  another,  there  were  certain  circumstances 
which  made  it  hard  to  refuse  point-blank.  In  a  way,  I 
suppose  Mr.  Kendrick  was  justified  in  assuming  that  I 
would  work  for  his  interests.  I  accepted  his  retaining 
fee.  You  remember  that  I  hesitated  before  doing  so,  but 
— but  I  did  accept,  and  I  have  acted  as  his  attorney  since. 
I- 

"Stop !  I  did  not  ask  for  excuses.  I  ask  you,  as  Mr. 
Daniels  asked,  are  you  for  my  cousin  or  against  her?" 

"And  I  ask  you  what  is  Mr.  Daniels'  warrant  for  ask 
ing  me  anything?" 

"Answer  my  question !  Will  you  fight  for  my  cousin's 
rights,  or  have  you  sold  yourself  to — to  this  benefactor 
of  yours?" 

John  flushed  at  the  repetition  of  the  word. 

"I  have  tried  to  give  value  received  for  whatever 
benefactions  have  come  my  way,"  he  said,  coldly.  "This 
matter  may  be  different;  in  a  way  it  is.  But  not  as  Mr. 
Holliday  Kendrick  sees  it.  When  a  lawyer  accepts  a 
retaining  fee — not  for  one  case  but  for  all  cases  which 

214 


'Misunderstand!'  she  repeated  ...  'I  understand  quite 
well.     Don't  speak  to  me  again.'" 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

his  client  may  give  him — he  is,  by  the  ethics  of  his  pro 
fession,  honor  bound  to " 

"Honor !"  scornfully.    "Suppose  we  omit  the  'honor'." 

"That  is  not  easy  to  do.  I  am  my  cousin's  attorney. 
But,  as  Mrs.  Barnes'  friend  and  yours,  I — 

Emily  stamped  her  foot.  "Friend!"  she  cried.  "I 
don't  care  for  such  friends.  I  have  heard  enough.  I 
don't  wish  to  hear  any  more.  You  were  right,  Mr. 
Daniels.  I  apologize  for  doubting  your  word.  Aunt 
Thankful,  you  must  settle  this  yourself.  I — I  am 
through.  I — I  am  going.  Please  don't  stop  me." 

She  was  on  her  way  to  the  door  of  the  dining-room. 
Heman  Daniels  called  her  name. 

"One  minute,  Miss  Howes,"  he  said.  "I  trust  you  will 
not  forget  you  have  one  friend  who  will  be  only  too  glad 
to  work  for  Mrs.  Barnes'  interests  and  yours.  I  am  at 
your  service." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,  Mr.  Daniels.  I — I  have  no 
doubt  we  shall  need  your  services.  But  please  don't " 

John  Kendrick  was  at  her  side. 

"Miss  Howes — Emily "  he  pleaded.  "Don't  mis 
understand  me." 

She  burst  out  at  him  like,  as  Captain  Obed  said  after 
ward,  "an  August  thunder  tempest." 

"Misunderstand !"  she  repeated.  "I  don't  misunder 
stand.  I  understand  quite  well.  Don't  speak  to  me 
again." 

The  door  closed  behind  her.  Thankful,  after  an  in 
stant's  hesitation,  hurried  out  after  her. 

"Excuse  me,  gentlemen,"  said  Daniels,  and  followed 
Mrs.  Barnes. 

Captain  Obed  turned  to  his  friend. 

"For  the  Lord  sakes,  John!"  he  shouted.  "What  in 
the  everlastin'  do  you  mean?  What  did  you  let  her  go 

215 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

that  way  for?  Why  didn't  you  tell  her  you  wouldn't 
doit?" 

But  Kendrick  paid  not  the  slightest  attention.  He  was 
gazing  at  the  door  through  which  Emily  and  Thankful 
had  disappeared.  His  face  was  white. 

"John,"  repeated  the  captain. 

"Hush!"  ordered  John.  He  strode  to  the  door  and 
opened  it. 

"Emily !"  he  cried.    "Emily !" 

There  was  no  answer.  John  waited  a  moment  and 
then  turned  and  walked  to  the  window,  where  he  raised 
the  shade  and  stood  looking  out. 

"John,"  said  the  captain  again. 

"Hush !    Don't  say  anything  to  me  now." 

So  Captain  Obed  did  not  speak.  A  few  minutes  later 
the  dining-room  door  opened  and  Mr.  Daniels  entered. 
His  expression  was  one  of  complete,  not  to  say  malicious, 
satisfaction.  John  turned  at  the  opening  of  the  door. 

"Emily,"  he  began.  Then,  seeing  Daniels,  he  remained 
silent,  looking  at  him. 

"Kendrick,"  said  Heman,  with  dignity,  "in  the  matter 
which  we  have  just  been  discussing  you  will  hereafter 
deal  with  me.  That  is  Mrs.  Barnes'  wish  and  also  Miss 
Howes'." 

John  did  not  reply.  Once  more  he  walked  to  the  door 
and  opened  it. 

"Miss  Howes!"  he  called.  "Emily!  If  you  will  let  me 
explain — Emily !" 

"I'll  go  fetch  her,"  declared  Captain  Obed.  John 
pushed  him  back. 

"Don't  interfere,  Captain,"  he  said,  sharply.    "Emily !" 

No  answer.    Daniels  made  the  next  remark. 

"I'm  afraid  you  don't  get  the  situation,  Kendrick," 
he  said.  "Neither  Miss  Howes  nor  Mrs.  Barnes  cares  to 

216 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

see  you  or  speak  with  you.  After  this  you  are  to  deal 
with  me.  They  have  asked  me,  as  a  friend,"  emphasiz-. 
ing  the  word,  "to  act  as  their  representative  in  this  and 
all  matters." 

John  turned  and  looked  at  the  speaker. 

"In  all  matters?"  he  asked,  slowly. 

"Yes  sir,  in  all." 

"And  they  refuse  to  see  me?" 

"It  would — er — seem  so.  ...  Is  there  anything 
further,  Kendrick?  If  not  then  this  affair  between  your 
— er — client  and  mine  would  appear  to  be  a  matter  of 
skill  for  you  and  me  to  contest.  We'll  see  who  wins." 

John  still  looked  at  him. 

"So  that's  it  then,"  he  said,  after  a  moment.  "You 
and  I  are  to  determine  which  is  the  better  lawyer?" 

"So  it  would  seem.  Though,  considering  my  record 
and  experience,  I  don't  know  that " 

"That  such  a  test  is  necessary?  I  don't  know  that  it  is, 
either.  But  we'll  have  it." 

He  walked  from  the  room  and  they  heard  him  ascend 
ing  the  stairs.  Captain  Obed  swore  aloud.  Heman 
Daniels  laughed. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  next  morning  the  captain  was  an  early  caller. 
Breakfast  at  the  High  Cliff  House  was  scarcely 
over  when  he  knocked  at  the  kitchen  door.    Imo- 
gene  opened  the  door. 

"Mr.  Kendrick  ain't  here,"  she  said,  in  answer  to  the 
caller's  question.  "He's  gone." 

"Gone?  So  early?  Where's  he  gone;  down  to  his 
office  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  He's  gone,  that's  all  I  do  know.  He 
didn't  stop  for  any  breakfast  either." 

"Humph!     That's  funny.     Where's  Mrs.  Thankful?" 

"She's  up  in  Miss  Emily's  room.  Miss  Emily  didn't 
come  down  to  breakfast  neither.  I'll  tell  Mrs.  Barnes 
you're  here." 

When  Thankful  came  she  looked  grave  enough. 

"I'm  awful  glad  to  see  you,  Cap'n,"  she  said.  "I've 
been  wantin'  to  talk  to  some  sane  person;  the  one  I've 
been  talkin'  to  ain't  sane,  not  now.  Come  into  the  dinin'- 
room.  Imogene,  you  needn't  finish  clearin'  away  till  I 
tell  you  to.  You  stay  in  the  kitchen  here." 

W'hen  she  and  Captain  Obed  were  in  the  dining-room 
alone,  and  with  both  doors  closed,  Thankful  told  of  the 
morning's  happenings. 

"They're  bad  enough,  too,"  she  declared.  "Almost  as 
bad  as  that  silly  business  last  night — or  worse,  if  such  a 
thing's  possible.  To  begin  with,  Mr.  John  Kendrick's 
gone." 

218 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Yes,  Imogene  said  he'd  gone.  But  what  made  him 
go  so  early?" 

"You  don't  understand,  Cap'n.  I  mean  he's  gone — 
gone  for  good.  He  isn't  goin'  to  board  or  room  here 
any  more." 

Captain  Obed  whistled.  "Whew !"  he  exclaimed.  "You 
don't  mean  it?" 

"I  wish  I  didn't,  but  I  do.  I  didn't  see  him  this 
mornin',  he  went  too  early  for  that,  but  he  took  his  suit 
case  and  his  trunk  is  all  packed  and  locked.  He  left  a 
note  for  me  with  a  check  for  his  room  rent  and  board 
in  it.  The  note  said  that  under  the  circumstances  he 
presumed  I  would  agree  'twas  best  for  him  to  go  some- 
wheres  else  at  once.  He  thanked  me  for  my  kindness, 
and  said  some  real  nice  things — but  he's  gone." 

"Tut!  tut!  Dear,  dear!  Where's  he  gone  to?  Did 
he  say?" 

"No,  I've  told  you  all  he  said.  I  suppose  likely  I  ought 
to  have  expected  it,  and  perhaps,  if  he  is  goin'  to  work 
for  that  cousin  of  his  and  against  me,  it's  best  that  he 
shouldn't  stay  here;  but  I'll  miss  him  awful — a  good  deal 
more'n  I  miss  the  money  he's  paid  me,  and  the  land  knows 
I  need  that.  I  can't  understand  why  he  acted  the  way 
he  did  last  night.  It  don't  seem  like  him  at  all." 

"Humph!  I  should  say  it  didn't.  And  it  ain't  like 
him  either.  There's  a  nigger  in  the  woodpile  some- 
wheres ;  I  wish  I  could  smoke  the  critter  out.  What's 
Emily  say  about  his  goin'?" 

"She  don't  say  anything.  She  won't  talk  about  him  at 
all,  and  she  won't  let  me  mention  his  name.  The  poor 
girl  looks  as  if  she'd  had  a  hard  night  of  it,  but  she 
locks,  too,  as  if  her  mind  was  made  up  so  fur's  he  was 
concerned." 

Captain  Obed  pulled  at  his  beard. 
219 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"She  didn't  give  him  much  of  a  chance  last  evenin', 
seemed  to  me,"  he  said.  "If  she'd  only  come  back  when 
he  called  after  her  that  time,  I  cal'late  he  was  goin'  to 
say  somethin';  but  she  didn't  come.  Wouldn't  answer 
him  at  all." 

"Did  he  call  after  her?  I  didn't  hear  him  and  I  don't 
think  she  did.  When  she  slammed  out  of  that  livin'- 
room  she  went  right  up  the  back  stairs  to  her  bedroom 
and  I  chased  after  her.  She  was  cryin',  or  next  door  to 
it,  and  I  wanted  to  comfort  her.  But  she  wouldn't  let 
me." 

"I  see.  Probably  she  didn't  hear  him  call  at  all.  He 
did,  though ;  and  he  called  her  by  her  first  name.  Matters 
between  'em  must  have  gone  further'n  we  thought  they 
had." 

"Yes,  I  guess  that's  so.  Do  you  know,  Cap'n,  I 
wouldn't  wonder  if  Mr.  Daniels  knew  that  and  that  was 
why  he  was  so — so  nasty  to  Mr.  Kendrick  last  night. 
Well,  I'm  afraid  it's  all  off  now.  Emily's  awful  proud 
and  she's  got  a  will  of  her  own." 

"Um,  so  I  should  judge.  And  John's  will  ain't  all 
mush  and  molasses  either.  That's  the  worst  of  young 
folks.  I  wonder  how  many  good  matches  have  been 
broke  off  just  by  two  young  idiots  lettin'  their  pride  inter 
fere  with  their  common-sense.  I  wish  you  and  me  had 
a  dime  for  every  one  that  had ;  you  wouldn't  have  to  keep 
boarders,  and  I  wouldn't  have  to  run  sailin'  parties  with 
codfish  passengers." 

"That's  so.  But,  Cap'n  Bangs,  do  you  think  Mr.  Ken 
drick  is  goin'  to  try  and  force  me  into  sellin'  out  just 
'cause  his  boss  says  so?  It  don't  seem  as  if  he  could. 
Why,  he — he's  seemed  so  grateful  for  what  I've  done  for 
him.  He  said  once  I  couldn't  be  kinder  if  I  was  his  own 
mother.  It  don't  seem  as  if  he  could  treat  me  so,  just 

220 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

for  the  money  there  was  in  it.  But,  Oh  dear!"  as  the 
thought  of  Mr.  Solomon  Cobb  crossed  her  mind,  "seems 
as  if  some  folks  would  do  anything  for  money." 

"John  wouldn't.  I've  known  of  his  turnin'  down 
more'n  one  case  there  was  money  in  account  of  its  bein' 
more  fishy  than  honest.  No,  if  he  does  work  for  that — 
that  half  Holliday  cousin  of  his  on  this  job,  it'll  be  be 
cause  he's  took  the  man's  money  and  feels  he  can't  de 
cently  say  no.  But  I  don't  believe  he  will.  No,  sir-ee !  I 
tell  you  there's  a  darky  in  this  kindlin'  pile.  I'm  goin' 
right  down  to  see  John  this  minute." 

He  went,  but,  instead  of  helping  the  situation,  he 
merely  made  it  worse.  He  found  John  seated  at  his 
office  desk  apparently  engaged  in  his  old  occupation,  that 
of  looking  out  of  the  window.  The  young  man's  face 
was  pale  and  drawn,  but  his  manner  was  perfectly  calm. 

"Hello,  Captain,"  he  observed,  as  his  caller  entered. 
"I  trust  you've  taken  the  necessary  precautions,  fumi 
gated  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"Fumigated  ?" 

"Why,  yes.  Unless  I'm  greatly  mistaken,  this  office  is 
destined  to  become  the  den  of  the  moral  leper.  As  soon 
as  my  respected  fellow-townsmen,  the  majority  of  them, 
learn  that  I  am  to  battle  with  Heman  the  Great,  and  in 
such  a  cause,  I  shall  be  shunned  and,  so  to  speak,  spat 
upon.  You're  taking  big  chances  by  coming  here."  j 

The  captain  grunted.  "Umph !"  he  sniffed.  "They 
don't  know  it  yet;  neither  do  I." 

"Ah  yes,  but  they  will  shortly.  Daniels  will  take  care 
that  they  do." 

"John,  for  thunder  sakes " 

"Better  escape  contagion  while  you  can,  Captain.  Un 
clean  !  Unclean !" 

"Aw,  belay,  John!  I  don't  feel  like  jokin'.  What 

221 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

you've  got  to  tell  me  now  is  that  it  ain't  so.    You  ain't 
goin'  to — to  try  to — to " 

His  friend  interrupted.  "Captain  Bangs,"  he  said, 
sharply,  "this  is  a  practical  world  we  live  in.  You  and 
I  have  had  that  preached  to  us;  at  least  I  have  and  you 
were  present  during  the  sermon.  I  don't  know  how 
you  feel,  of  course ;  but  henceforth  I  propose  to  be  the 
most  practical  man  you  ever  saw."  **"•• 

"Consarn  your  practicality!  Are  you  goin'  to  help 
that — that  gold-dust  twin — that  cussed  relation  of  yours, 
grab  Thankful  Barnes'  hous«  and  land  from  her?" 

"Look  here,  Bangs;  when  the — gold-dust  twin  isn't 
bad — when  the  twin  offered  me  the  position  of  his  attor 
ney  and  the  blanket  retainer  along  with  it,  who  was  it 
that  hesitated  concerning  my  acceptance  ?  You  ?  I  don't 
remember  that  you  did.  Neither  did — others.  But  I  did 
accept  because — well,  because.  Now  the  complications 
are  here,  and  what  then  ?"  ( 

"John — John  Kendrick,  if  you  dast  to  set  there  and  tell 
me  you're  cal'latin'  to — you  can't  do  it !  You  can't  be 
goin'  to  try  such  a " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  can.    I  may  not  succeed,  but  I  can  try." 

Captain  Obed  seldom  lost  his  temper,  but  he  lost  it 
now.  | 

"By  the  everlastin' !"  he  roared.  "And  this  is  the 
young  feller  that  I've  been  holdin'  up  and  backin'  up  as 
all  that's  fair  and  above  board !  John  Kendrick,  do  you 
realize "  < 

"Easy,  Captain,  easy.  Perhaps  I  realize  what  I'm 
doing  better  than  you  do." 

"You  don't  neither.     Emily  Howes " 

John's  interruption  was  sharper  now. 

"That'll  do,  Bangs,"  he  said.  "Suppose  we  omit 
names." 

222 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"No,  we  won't  omit  'em.  I  tell  you  you  don't  realize. 
You're  drivin'  that  girl  right  straight  to  Heman  Daniels, 
that's  what  you're  doin'." 

Kendrick  smiled.  "I  should  say  there  was  no  driving 
necessary,"  he  observed.  "Daniels  seems  to  be  already 
the  chosen  guardian  and  adviser.  I  do  realize  what  I'm 
doing,  Captain,  and,"  deliberately,  "I  shall  do  it." 

"John,  Emily " 

"Hush !  I  like  you,  Captain  Obed.  I  don't  wish  to 
quarrel  with  you.  Take  my  advice  and  omit  that  young 
lady's  name." 

Captain  Obed  made  one  last  appeal. 

"John,"  he  pleaded,  desperately,  "don't !  I  know  you're 
sort  of — sort  of  tied  up  to  Holliday  Kendrick;  I  know 
you  feel  that  you  are.  But  this  ain't  a  question  of  pro 
fessional  honor  and  that  kind  of  stuff.  It's  right  and 
wrong." 

"Is  it?  I  think  not.  I  was  quite  willing  to  discuss  the 
rights  and  wrongs,  but  I  had  no — rhowever,  that  is  past. 
I  was  informed  last  night,  and  in  your  hearing,  that  the 
question  was  to  be  purely  a  matter  of  legal  skill — of  law 
— between  Daniels  and  myself.  Very  well ;  I  am  a  law 
yer.  Good  morning,  Captain  Bangs." 

The  captain  left  the  office,  still  protesting.  He  was 
hurt  and  angry.  It  was  not  until  later  he  remembered 
he  had  not  told  Kendrick  that  Heman  Daniels  must  have 
spoken  without  authority  when  he  declared  himself  the 
chosen  representative  of  Mrs.  Barnes  and  Emily  in  all 
matters  between  the  pair  and  John.  Heman  could  not 
have  been  given  such  authority  because,  according  to 
Thankful's  story,  she  and  Miss  Howes  had  immediately 
gone  upstairs  after  leaving  the  living-room.  Daniels 
could  have  spoken  with  them  again  that  evening.  But 
when  Captain  Obed  remembered  this  it  was  too  late. 

223 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Thankful  had  asked  Mr.  Daniels  to  take  her  case,  pro 
vided  the  attempt  at  ousting  her  from  her  property  ever 
reached  legal  proceedings.  And  Emily  Howes  left  East 
Wellmouth  two  days  later. 

She  had  not  intended  to  leave  for  South  Middleboro 
so  soon ;  she  had  planned  to  remain  another  week  before 
going  back  to  her  school  duties.  But  there  came  a  letter 
from  the  committee  asking  her  to  return  as  soon  as  pos 
sible  and  she  suddenly  announced  her  determination  to 
go  at  once. 

,  Thankful  at  first  tried  to  dissuade  her,  but  soon  gave 
up  the  attempt.  It  was  quite  evident  that  Emily  meant 
to  go  and  equally  certain,  in  her  cousin's  mind,  that  the 
reason  for  the  sudden  departure  was  the  scene  with  John 
Kendrick.  Emily  refused  to  discuss  the  latter's  conduct 
or  to  permit  the  mention  of  his  name.  She  seemed  re 
luctant  even  to  speak  of  the  Holliday  Kendrick  matter, 
although  all  of  East  Wellmouth  was  now  talking  of  little 
else.  When  Mrs.  Barnes,  driven  to  desperation,  begged 
her  to  say  what  should  be  done,  she  shook  her  head. 
1  "I  wish  I  could  tell  you,  Auntie,"  she  said,  "but  I  can't. 
Perhaps  you  don't  need  to  do  anything  yet.  Mr.  Daniels 
says  the  idea  that  that  man  can  force  you  into  selling  is 
ridiculous." 

"I  know  he  does.  But  I'm  a  woman,  Emily,  and  what 
I  don't  know  about  law  would  fill  a  bigger  library  than 
there  is  in  this  town  by  a  consider'ble  sight.  It's  always 
the  woman,  particularly  a  widow  woman,  that  gets  the 
worst  of  it  in  this  kind  of  thing.  I'd  feel  better  if  I  knew 
somebody  was  lookin'  out  for  me.  Oh  dear,  if  only  Mr. 
John  Kendrick  hadn't " 

"Auntie,  please." 

"Yes,  I  know.    But  it  don't  seem  as  if  he  could  act  so 

to  me.    It  don't  seem : 

224 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Hush!  It  is  quite  evident  he  can.  Don't  say  any 
more." 

"Well,  I  won't.  But  what  shall  I  do?  Shall  I  put  it 
all  in  Mr.  Daniels'  hands  ?  He  says  he'll  be  glad  to  help ; 
in  fact  about  everybody  thinks  he  is  helpin',  I  guess. 
Hannah  Parker  told  me " 

"Don't,  Auntie,  don't.  Put  it  in  Mr.  Daniels'  hands,  if 
you  think  best.  I  suppose  it  is  all  you  can  do.  Yes,  let 
Mr.  Daniels  handle  it  for  you." 

"All  right.    I'll  tell  him  you  and  I  have  agreed " 

"No.  Tell  him  nothing  of  the  sort.  Don't  bring  my 
name  into  the  matter." 

"But,  Emily,  you  don't  think  I  ought  to  sell " 

"No!  No!  Of  course  I  don't  think  so.  If  I  were  you 
I  should  fight  to  the  last  ditch.  I  would  never  give  in — 
never!  Oh,  Auntie,  I  feel  wicked  and  mean  to  leave 
you  now,  with  all  this  new  trouble ;  but  I  must — I  must 
I  can't  stay  here — I " 

"There,  there,  Emily,  dear!  I  understand,  I  guess.  I 
know  how  hard  it  is  for  you.  And  I  thought  so  much  of 
him,  too.  I  thought  he  was  such  a  fine  young ' 

"Aunt  Thankful,  are  you  daring  to  hint  that  I — / — care 
in  the  least  for  that — him  ?  How  dare  you  insinuate  such 
a  thing  to  me  ?  I — I  despise  him !" 

"Yes,  yes,"  hastily.  "Course  you  do,  course  you  do. 
Well,  we  won't  worry  about  that,  any  of  it.  Mr.  Daniels 
says  there's  nothin'  to  worry  about  anyhow,  and  I'll  tell 
him  he  can  do  what  he  thinks  ought  to  be  done  when  it's 
necessary.  Now  let's  finish  up  that  packin'  of  yours, 
dearie." 

Thankful  did  not  trust  herself  to  accompany  her  cousin 
to  Wellmouth  Centre.  She  was  finding  it  hard  enough  to 
face  the  coming  separation  with  outward  cheerfulness, 
and  the  long  ride  to  the  railway  station  she  found  to  be 

225 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

too  great  a  strain.  So  she  made  the  lameness  of  George 
Washington's  off  fore  leg  an  excuse  for  keeping  that 
personage  in  the  stable,  and  it  was  in  Winnie  S.'s  depot- 
wagon  that  Emily  journeyed  to  the  Centre. 

They  said  good-by  at  the  front  gate.  Emily,  too,  was 
trying  to  appear  cheerful,  and  the  parting  was  hurried. 

"Good-by,  Auntie,"  she  said.  "Take  care  of  yourself. 
Write  often  and  I  will  answer,  I  promise  you.  I  know 
you'll  be  lonely  after  I've  gone,  but  I  have  a  plan — a 
secret.  If  I  can  carry  it  through  you  won't  be  so  lonely, 
I'm  pretty  sure.  And  don't  worry,  will  you?  The  mort 
gage  is  all  right  and  as  for  the  other  thing — well,  that 
will  be  all  right,  too.  You  won't  worry,  will  you?" 

"No,  no;  I'll  be  too  busy  to  worry.  And  you'll  come 
down  for  the  Christmas  vacation  ?  You  will,  won't  you  ?" 

"I'll  try  ...  I  mean  I  will  if  I  can  arrange  it.  Good- 
by,  dear." 

The  depot-wagon  rattled  out  of  the  yard.  Winnie  S. 
pulled  up  at  the  gate  to  shout  a  bit  of  news. 

"Say,  Mrs.  Barnes,"  he  yelled,  "we  got  one  of  your 
boarders  over  to  our  place  now.  John  Kendrick's  come 
there  to  live.  Lots  of  folks  are  down  on  him  'count  of 
his  heavin'  you  over  and  takin'  up  along  with  Mr.  Holli- 
day;  but  Dad  says  he  don't  care  about  that  so  long's  he 
pays  his  board  reg'lar.  Git  dap,  Old  Hundred!" 

A  last  wave  of  Thankful's  hand,  the  answering  wave 
of  a  handkerchief  from  the  rear  seat  of  the  depot-wagon, 
and  the  parting  was  over.  Thankful  went  into  the  house. 
Lonely !  She  had  never  been  more  lonely  in  her  life,  ex 
cept  when  the  news  of  her  husband's  death  was  brought 
to  her.  The  pang  of  loneliness  which  followed  her 
brother  Jedediah's  departure  for  the  Klondike  was  as 
nothing  to  this.  She  had  promised  not  to  worry,  and  she 
must  keep  that  promise,  but  there  was  certainly  plenty 

226 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

to  cause  worry.  The  mortgage  which  Emily  had  so  com 
fortably  declared  "all  right"  was  far  from  that.  Solo 
mon  Cobb  had  not  been  near  her  since  their  interview. 
He  had  not  yet  said  that  he  would  renew  the  mortgage 
when  it  fell  due.  Mrs.  Barnes  began  to  fear  that  he  did 
not  intend  to  renew  it. 

Heman  Daniels,  when  he  came  in  for  supper,  seemed 
disturbed  to  find  that  Miss  Howes  had  gone.  Somehow 
or  other  he  had  gained  the  impression  that  she  was  to 
leave  the  next  morning. 

"Did  she — did  Miss  Howes  leave  no  message  for  me?" 
he  inquired,  with  a  carelessness  which,  to  Thankful, 
seemed  more  assumed  than  real.  1 

"No,"  answered  the  latter,  "no,  unless  you  call  it  a 
message  about  takin'  the  responsibility  of  Holliday  Ken- 
drick  and  his  schemes  off  my  hands.  That  is,"  remem 
bering  Emily's  desire  not  to  have  her  name  mentioned  in 
the  matter,  "she  didn't  leave  that.  But  I  guess  you  can 
take  charge  of  that  mess,  if  you  want  to."  j 

Mr.  Daniels  smiled  a  superior  smile.  "I  intended  doing 
so,"  he  said,  "as  a  matter  of  friendship,  Mrs.  Barnes. 
You  may  rest  easy.  I  have  taken  pains  to  let  the  town- 
folks  know  that  your  interests  are  mine  and  I  think  our 
— er — late — er — friend  is  learning  what  our  best  citizens 
think  of  his  attitude." 

There  was  truth  in  this  statement.  John  Kendrick  had 
foreseen  the  effect  upon  his  popularity  which  his  espousal 
of  his  wealthy  relative's  cause  might  have  and  his 
prophecy  concerning  "moral  leprosy"  was  in  process  of 
fulfillment.  Opinion  in  the  village  was  divided,  of  course. 
There  were  some  who,  like  Darius  Holt,  announced  that 
they  did  not  blame  the  young  fellow.  E.  Holliday  had 
money  and  influence  and,  as  a  business  man,  his  attorney 
would  be  a  fool  not  tQ  stick  by  the  cash-box.  But  there 

227 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

were  others,  and  these  leading  citizens  and  hitherto  good 
friends,  who  openly  expressed  disgust  both  with  the  rich 
man  and  his  lawyer.  Several  of  these  citizens  called 
upon  Thankful  to  tell  her  of  their  sympathy  and  of  their 
wish  to  help  her  in  any  way. 

"Not  that  you're  liable  to  need  help,"  said  one  caller. 
"This  property's  yours  and  even  John  D.  himself  couldn't 
get  it  from  you  unless  you  were  willin'.  But  it's  a  dirty 
trick  just  the  same  and  young  Kendrick,  that  all  hands 
thought  was  so  straight  and  honest,  takin'  part  in  it  is 
the  dirtiest  thing  in  it.  Well,  he's  hurt  himself  more'n 
he  has  anybody  else." 

Captain  Obed  Bangs  was  a  gloomy  man  that  fall.  He 
had  always  liked  John  and  the  liking  had  grown  to  an 
ardent  admiration  and  affection.  He  made  several  at 
tempts  to  speak  with  the  young  man  on  the  subject,  but 
the  latter  would  not  discuss  it.  He  was  always  glad  to 
see  the  captain  and  quite  willing  to  talk  of  anything  but 
Mrs.  Barnes'  property  and  of  Emily  Howes.  These 
topics  were  taboo  and  Captain  Obed  soon  ceased  to  men 
tion  them.  Also  he  no  longer  made  daily  calls  at  the  ex- 
barber-shop  and,  in  spite  of  himself,  could  not  help  show 
ing,  when  he  did  call,  the  resentment  he  felt.  John  no 
ticed  this  and  there  was  a  growing  coldness  between  the 
two. 

"But,"  declared  the  captain,  stoutly,  when  he  and 
Thankful  were  together,  "I  still  say  'tain't  so.  I  give  in 
that  it  looks  as  if  'twas,  but  I  tell  you  there's  a  nigger  in 
the  woodpile  somewheres.  Some  day  he'll  be  dug  out 
and  then  there's  a  heap  of  tattle-tales  and  character  nag 
gers  in  this  town  that'll  find  they've  took  the  wrong 
channel.  They'll  be  good  and  seasick,  that's  what 
they'll  be." 

Mr.  E.  Holliday  Kendrick,  if  he  knew  that  his  own 

228 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

popularity  had  suffered  a  shock,  did  not  appear  to  care. 
He  went  on  with  his  plans  for  enlarging  his  estate  and, 
when  he  left  East  Wellmouth  for  New  York,  which  he 
did  early  in  October,  told  those  who  asked  him  that  he 
had  left  the  purchase  of  the  "boarding-house  nuisance" 
in  the  hands  of  his  attorney.  "I  shall  have  that  prop 
erty,"  he  announced,  emphatically.  "I  may  not  get  it  for 
some  time,  but  I  shall  get  it.  I  make  it  a  point  to  get 
what  I  go  after." 

Emily,  in  her  letters,  those  written  soon  after  her  ar 
rival  in  South  Middleboro,  said  nothing  concerning  her 
plan,  the  "secret"  which  was  to  cheer  Mrs.  Barnes'  lone 
liness.  Thankful  could  not  help  wondering  what  the 
secret  might  be,  but  in  her  own  letters  she  asked  no  ques 
tions.  And,  one  day  in  mid-October,  that  secret  was 
divulged. 

Thankful,  busy  in  the  kitchen  with  Imogene,  preparing 
dinner,  heard  the  sound  of  wheels  and  horse's  hoofs 
in  the  yard.  Going  to  the  door,  she  was  surprised  to  see 
Captain  Obed  Bangs  climbing  from  a  buggy.  The  buggy 
was  her  own  and  the  horse  to  which  it  was  attached  was 
her  own  George  Washington.  Upon  the  seat  of  the 
buggy  was  a  small  boy.  Thankful  merely  glanced  at  the 
boy;  her  interest  just  then  centered  upon  the  fact  that 
the  captain  was,  or  apparently  had  been,  using  her  horse 
and  buggy  without  her  knowledge  or  consent.  She  cer 
tainly  had  no  objection  to  his  so  using  it,  but  it  was  most 
unlike  him  to  do  so. 

"Good  mornin',  ma'am,"  he  hailed,  cheerfully.  His 
eyes  were  twinkling  and  he  appeared  to  be  in  high  good 
humor. 

"Why,  good  mornin',  Cap'n,"  said  Thankful.  "I — you 
— you're  goin'  somewhere,  I  should  judge." 

The  captain  shook  his  head.  "No,"  he  replied,  "I've 
229 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

been.  Had  an  errand  up  to  the  Centre.  I  knew  some- 
thin'  was  comin'  on  the  mornin'  train  so  I  drove  up  to 
fetch  it.  Thought  you  wouldn't  mind  my  usin'  your  horse 
and  buggy.  Imogene  knew  I  was  usin'  it." 

Thankful  was  surprised.  "She  did?"  she  repeated. 
"That's  funny.  She  didn't  say  a  word  to  me." 

"No,  I  told  her  not  to.  You  see,  the — the  somethin'  I 
was  expectin'  was  for  you,  so  I  thought  we'd  make  it  a 
little  surprise.  Emily — Miss  Howes,  she  sent  it." 

"Emily — sent  somethin'  to  me?" 

"Yup." 

"For  the  land  sakes!  Well,"  after  a  moment,  "did  it 
come?  Where  is  it?" 

"Oh,  yes,  it  came.  It's  right  there  in  the  buggy.  Don't 
you  see  it?" 

Thankful  looked  at  the  buggy.  The  only  thing  in  it, 
so  far  as  she  could  see,  was  the  little  boy  on  the  seat. 
The  little  boy  grinned. 

"Hello,  Aunt  Thankful,"  he  said.  "I've  come  to  stay 
with  you,  I  have." 

Thankful  started,  stared,  and  then  made  a  rush  for 
the  buggy. 

"Georgie  Hobbs!"  she  cried.  "You  blessed  little 
scamp !  Come  here  to  me  this  minute.  Well,  well,  well !" 

Georgie  came  and  was  received  with  a  bear  hug  and  a 
shower  of  kisses. 

"Well,  well!"  repeated  Thankful.  "And  to  think  I 
didn't  know  you !  I'm  ashamed  of  myself.  And  you're 
the  surprise,  I  suppose.  You  are  one,  sure  and  sartin. 
How  did  you  get  here?" 

"I  came  on  the  cars,"  declared  Georgie,  proudly.  "Ma 
and  Emmie  put  me  on  'em  and  told  me  to  sit  right  still 
until  I  got  to  Wellmouth  Centre  and  then  get  off.  And 
I  did,  too;  didn't  I,  Mr. — I  mean  Captain  Bangs." 

230 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"You  bet  you  did!"  agreed  the  delighted  captain. 
"That's  some  relation  you've  got  there,  Mrs.  Barnes. 
He's  little  but  Oh  my!  He  and  I  have  had  a  good  talk 
on  the  way  down.  We  got  along  fust-rate ;  hey,  commo 
dore?  The  commodore's  agreed  to  ship  second-mate 
along  with  me  next  v'yage  I  make,  if  I  ever  make  one." 

Thankful  held  her  "relation" — he  was  Emily's  half- 
brother  and  her  own  favorite  next  to  Emily  herself  in 
that  family — at  arm's  length.  "You  blessed  little — little 
mite!"  she  exclaimed.  "So  you  come  'way  down  here 
all  alone  just  to  see  your  old  auntie.  Did  you  ever  in 
your  life!  And  I  suppose  you're  th«  'secret'  Emily  said 
she  had,  the  one  that  was  to  keep  me  from  bein'  lone 
some." 

Georgie  nodded.  "Yes,"  he  said.  "Emmie,  she's  wrote 
you  all  about  me.  I've  got  the  letter  pinned  inside  of  me 
here,"  patting  his  small  chest.  "And  I'm  goin'  to  stay 
ever  so  long,  I  am.  I  want  to  see  the  pig  and  the  hens 
and  the — and  the  orphan,  and  everything." 

"So  you  shall,"  declared  Thankful.  "I'm  glad  enough 
to  see  you  to  turn  the  house  inside  out  if  you  wanted  to 
look  at  it.  And  you  knew  all  about  this,  I  suppose?" 
turning  to  Captain  Obed. 

The  captain  laughed  aloud. 

"Sartin  I  did,"  he  said.  "Miss  Howes  and  I  have  been 
writin'  each  other  like  a  couple  of  courtin'  young  folks. 
I  knew  the  commodore  was  goin'  to  set  sail  today  and 
I  was  on  hand  up  to  the  depot  to  man  the  yards.  Forgive 
me  for  hookin'  your  horse  and  buggy,  will  you,  Mrs. 
Thankful  ?" 

Forgiveness  was  granted.  Thankful  would  have  for 
given  almost  anything  just  then.  The  "commodore"  an 
nounced  that  he  was  hungry  and  he  was  hurried  into  the 
house.  The  cares  of  travel  had  not  taken  away  his  appe- 

231 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

tite.  He  was  introduced  to  Imogene,  at  whom  he  stared 
fixedly  for  a  minute  or  more  and  then  asked  if  she  was 
the  "orphan."  When  told  that  she  was  he  asked  if  her 
mamma  and  papa  were  truly  dead.  Imogene  said  she 
guessed  they  were.  Then  Georgie  asked  why,  and,  after 
then,  what  made  them  that  way,  adding  the  information 
that  he  had  a  kitty  that  went  dead  one  time  and  wasn't 
any  good  any  more. 

The  coming  of  the  "commodore"  brought  a  new  touch 
of  life  to  the  High  Cliff  House,  which  had  settled  down 
for  its  winter  nap.  Thankful,  of  course,  read  Emily's 
letter  at  the  first  opportunity.  Emily  wrote  that  she  felt 
sure  Georgie  would  be  company  for  her  cousin  and  that 
she  had  conceived  the  idea  of  the  boy's  visit  before  leav 
ing  East  Wellmouth,  but  had  said  nothing  because  she 
was  not  sure  mother  would  consent.  But  that  consent 
had  been  granted  and  Georgie  might  stay  until  Christmas, 
perhaps  even  after  that  if  he  was  not  too  great  a  care. 

He  was  something  of  a  care,  there  was  no  doubt  of 
that.  Imogene,  whom  he  liked  and  who  liked  him,  de 
clared  that  "that  young  one  had  more  jump  in  him  than 
a  sand  flea."  The  very  afternoon  of  his  arrival  he  fright 
ened  the  hens  into  shrieking  hysterics,  poked  the  fat  and 
somnolent  Patrick  Henry,  the  pig,  with  a  sharp  stick  to 
see  if  he  was  alive  and  not  "gone  dead"  like  the  kitten, 
and  barked  his  shins  and  nose  by  falling  out  of  the  wheel 
barrow  in  the  barn.  Kenelm,  who  still  retained  his  posi 
tion  at  the  High  Cliff  House  and  was  meek  and  lowly 
under  the  double  domination  of  his  fiancee  and  his  sister, 
was  inclined  to  grumble.  "A  feller  can't  set  down  to  rest 
a  minute,"  declared  Kenelm,  "without  that  young  one's 
jumpin'  out  at  him  from  behind  somethin'  or  'nother  and 
hollerin',  'Boo!'  Seems  to  like  to  scare  me  into  a  fit. 
Picks  on  me  wuss  than  Hannah,  he  does." 

232 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

But  even  Kenelm  confessed  to  a  liking  for  the  "pesky 
little  nuisance."  Captain  Obed  idolized  him  and  took 
him  on  excursions  along  the  beach  or  to  his  own  fish- 
houses,  where  Georgie  sat  on  a  heap  of  nets  and  came 
home  smelling  strongly  of  cod,  but  filled  to  the  brim  with 
sea  yarns.  And  Thankful  found  in  the  boy  the  one  com 
fort  and  solace  for  her  increasing  troubles  and  cares.  Al 
together  the  commodore  was  in  a  fair  way  to  become  a 
thoroughly  spoiled  officer. 

With  November  came  the  rains  again,  and,  compared 
with  them,  those  of  early  September  seemed  but  showers. 
Day  after  day  and  night  after  night  the  wind  blew  and 
the  water  splashed  against  the  windows  and  poured  from 
the  overflowing  gutters.  Patrick  Henry,  the  pig,  found 
his  quarters  in  the  new  pen,  in  the  hollow  behind  the 
barn,  the  center  of  the  flood  zone,  and  being  discovered 
one  morning  marooned  on  a  swampy  islet  in  the  middle 
of  a  muddy  lake,  was  transferred  to  the  old  sty,  that  built 
by  the  late  Mr.  Laban  Eldredge,  beneath  the  woodshed 
and  adjoining  the  potato  cellar.  Thankful's  orderly,  neat 
soul  rebelled  against  having  a  pig  under  the  house,  but, 
as  she  expressed  it,  "  'twas  either  that  or  havin'  the  crit 
ter  two  foot  under  water." 

Captain  Obed,  like  every  citizen  of  East  Wellmouth, 
was  disgusted  with  the  weather.  "I  was  cal'latin'  to  put 
in  my  spare  time  down  to  the  shanty  buildin'  a  new  dory," 
he  said,  "but  I  guess  no.w  I'll  build  an  ark  instead.  If  this 
downpour  keeps  on  I'll  need  one  bad  as  Noah  ever  did." 

Heman  Daniels,  Miss  Timpson  and  Caleb  Hammond 
were  now  the  only  boarders  and  roomers  Mrs.  Barnes 
had  left  to  provide  for.  There  was  little  or  no  profit  in 
providing  for  them,  for  the  rates  paid  by  the  two  last 
named  were  not  high,  and  their  demands  were  at  times 
almost  unreasonable.  Miss  Timpson  had  a  new  idea  now, 

233 


that  of  giving  up  the  room  she  had  occupied  since  coming 
to  the  Barnes  boarding-house  and  moving  her  belongings 
into  the  suite  at  the  rear  of  the  second  floor,  that  com 
prising  the  large  room  and  the  little  back  bedroom  adjoin 
ing,  the  latter  the  scene  of  Thankful's  spooky  adventure 
on  the  first  night  of  her  arrival  in  East  Wellmouth. 
These  rooms  ordinarily  rented  for  much  more  than  Miss 
Timpson  had  paid  for  her  former  apartment,  but  she  had 
no  thought  of  paying  more  for  them.  "Of  course  I 
shouldn't  expect  to  get  'em  for  the  same  if  'twas  sum 
mer,"  she  explained  to  Thankful,  "but  just  now,  with 
'em  standin'  empty,  I  might  as  well  move  there  as  not. 
I  know  you'll  be  glad  to  have  me,  won't  you,  Mrs.  Barnes, 
you  and  me  being  such  good  friends  by  this  time." 

And  Thankful,  although  conscious  of  an  injustice 
somewhere,  did  not  like  to  refuse  her  "good  friend."  So 
she  consented  and  Miss  Timpson  moved  into  the  back 
rooms.  But  she  no  sooner  had  her  trunks  carried  there 
than  she  was  struck  by  another  brilliant  idea.  Thankful, 
hearing  unusual  sounds  from  above  that  Saturday  morn 
ing,  ascended  the  back  stairs  to  find  the  school  mistress 
tugging  at  the  bureau,  which  she  was  apparently  trying 
to  drag  from  the  small  room  into  the  larger. 

"It  came  to  me  all  of  a  sudden,"  panted  Miss  Timpson, 
who  was  out  of  breath  but  enthusiastic.  "That  little 
room's  awful  small  and  stuffy  to  sleep  in,  and  I  do  hate 
to  sleep  in  a  stuffy  room.  But  when  I  was  standing  there 
sniffing  and  looking  it  came  to  me." 

"What  came  to  you  ?"  demanded  the  puzzled  Thankful. 
"What  are  you  talkin'  about — the  bureau?" 

"No,  no !  The  idea !  The  bureau  couldn't  come  to  me 
by  itself,  could  it  ?  No,  the  idea  came  to  me.  That  little 
room  isn't  good  for  much  as  a  bedroom,  but  it  will  make 
the  loveliest  study.  I  can  put  my  table  and  my  books  in 

234 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

there  and  move  the  bed  and  things  in  here.  Then  I'll 
have  a  beautiful,  nice  big  bedroom  and  the  cutest  little 
study.  And  I've  always  wanted  a  study.  Now  if  you 
and  Imogene  help  me  with  the  bureau  and  bed  it'll  be  all 
fixed." 

So  Imogene,  assisted  by  Kenelm,  who  was  drafted  in 
Thankful's  place,  spent  a  good  part  of  the  afternoon 
shifting  furniture  and  arranging  the  bedroom  and  the 
"study."  Miss  Timpson  superintended,  and  as  she  was 
seldom  satisfied  until  each  separate  item  of  the  suite's 
equipment  had  been  changed  about  at  least  twice,  in  order 
to  get  the  "effect,"  all  three  were  nervous  and  tired  when 
the  shifting  was  over.  Miss  Timpson  should  have  been 
happy  over  the  attainment  of  the  study,  but  instead  she 
appeared  gloomy  and  downcast. 

"I  declare,"  she  said,  as  she  and  Thankful  sat  together 
in  the  living-room  that  evening,  "I  don't  know's  I've  done 
right,  after  all.  I  don't  know's  I  wish  I  had  stayed  right 
where  I  was." 

"Mercy  on  us!  Why?"  demanded  Thankful,  a  trifle 
impatiently. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Maybe  'cause  I'm  kind  of  tired 
and  nervous  tonight.  I  feel  as  if — as  if  something  was 
going  to  happen  to  me.  I  wonder  if  I  could  have  another 
cup  of  tea  before  I  went  to  bed ;  it  might  settle  my  nerves, 
you  know." 

Considering  that  the  lady  had  drunk  three  cups  of  tea 
at  supper  Mrs.  Barnes  could  not  help  feeling  doubtful 
concerning  the  soothing  effect  of  a  fourth.  But  she  pre 
pared  it  and  brought  it  into  the  living-room.  Miss  Timp 
son  sipped  the  tea  and  groaned. 

"Do  you  ever  have  presentiments,  Mrs.  Barnes?"  she 
asked. 

"Have  what?" 

235 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Presentiments?  Warnings,  you  know?  I've  had  sev 
eral  in  my  life  and  they  have  always  come  to  something. 
I  feel  as  if  I  was  going  to  have  one  now.  Heavens !  Hear 
that  wind  and  rain !  Don't  they  sound  like  somebody  call 
ing — calling  ?" 

"No,  they  don't.  They  sound  cold  and  wet,  that's  all. 
Dear  me,  I  never  saw  such  a  spell  of  weather.  I  thought 
this  mornin'  'twas  goin'  to  clear,  but  now  it's  come  on 
again,  hard  as  ever." 

"Well,"  with  dismal  resignation,  "we'll  all  go  when 
our  time  comes,  I  suppose.  We're  here  today  and  gone 
tomorrow.  I  don't  suppose  there's  any  use  setting  and 
worrying.  Be  prepared,  that's  the  main  thing.  Have 
you  bought  a  cemetery  lot,  Mrs.  Barnes?  You  ought  to; 
everybody  had.  We  can't  tell  when  we're  liable  to  need 
a  grave." 

"Goodness  gracious  sakes !  Don't  talk  about  cemetery 
lots  and  graves.  You  give  me  the  blue  creeps.  Go  to  bed 
and  rest  up.  You're  tired,  and  no  wonder ;  you've  moved 
no  less'n  three  times  since  mornin',  and  they  say  one 
movin's  as  bad  as  a  fire.  Here!  Give  me  that  tea-cup. 
There's  nothin'  left  in  it  but  grounds,  and  you  don't  want 
to  drink  them." 

Miss  Timpson  relinquished  the  cup,  took  her  lamp  and 
climbed  the  stairs.  Her  good  night  was  as  mournful  as  a 
funeral  march.  Thankful,  left  alone,  tried  to  read  for  a 
time,  but  the  wailing  wind  and  squeaking  shutters  made 
her  nervous  and  depressed,  so,  after  putting  the  key  under 
the  mat  of  the  side  door  for  Heman  Daniels,  who  was  out 
attending  a  meeting  of  the  Masonic  Lodge,  she,  too,  re 
tired. 

It  was  not  raining  when  she  awoke,  but  the  morning 
was  gray  and  cloudy.  She  came  downstairs  early,  so 
early — for  it  was  Sunday  morning,  when  all  East  Well- 

236 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

mouth  lies  abed — that  she  expected  to  find  no  one,  not 
even  Imogene,  astir.  But,  to  her  great  surprise,  Miss 
Timpson  was  seated  by  the  living-room  stove. 

"Land  sakes!"  exclaimed  Thankful.  "Are  you  up? 
What's  the  matter?" 

Miss  Timpson,  who  had  started  violently  when  Mrs. 
Barnes  entered,  turned  toward  the  latter  a  face  as  white, 
so  Thankful  described  it  afterward,  "as  unbleached  mus 
lin."  This  was  not  a  bad  simile,  for  Miss  Timpson's 
complexion  was,  owing  to  her  excessive  tea-drinking,  a 
decided  yellow.  Just  now  it  was  a  very  pale  yellow. 

"Who  is  it?"  she  gasped.  "Oh,  it's  you,  Mrs.  Barnes. 
It  is  you,  isn't  it  ?" 

"Me  ?  Of  course  it's  me.  Have  I  changed  so  much  in 
the  night  that  you  don't  know  me?  What  is  it,  Miss 
Timpson  ?  Are  you  sick  ?  Can  I  get  you  anything  ?" 

"No,  no.  I  ain't  sick — in  body,  anyway.  And  nobody 
can  get  me  anything  this  side  of  the  grave.  Mrs.  Barnes, 
I'm  going." 

"You're  goin'f  What?  You  don't  mean  you're  dyin'?" 

Considering  her  lodger's  remarks  of  the  previous  eve 
ning,  those  relating  to  "going  when  the  time  came,"  it  is 
no  wonder  Thankful  was  alarmed.  But  Miss  Timpson 
shook  her  head. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  don't  mean  that,  not  yet,  though 
that'll  come  next;  I  feel  it  coming  already.  No,  Mrs. 
Barnes,  I  don't  mean  that.  I  mean  I'm  going  away.  I 
can't  live  here  any  longer." 

Thankful  collapsed  upon  a  chair. 

"Coin' !"  she  repeated.  "You're  goin'  to  leave  here  ? 
Why — why  you've  just  fixed  up  to  stay !" 

Miss  Timpson  groaned.  "I  know,"  she  wailed;  "I 
thought  I  had,  but  I — I've  changed  my  mind.  I'm  going 
to  leave — now." 

237 


By  way  of  proof  she  pointed  to  her  traveling-bag, 
which  was  beside  her  on  the  floor.  Mrs.  Barnes  had  not 
noticed  the  bag  before,  but  now  she  saw  that  it  was, 
apparently,  packed. 

"My  trunks  ain't  ready  yet,"  went  on  the  schoolmis 
tress.  "I  tried  to  pack  'em,  but — but  I  couldn't.  I 
couldn't  bear  to  do  it  alone.  Maybe  you  or  Imogene  will 
help  me  by  and  by.  Oh,  my  soul !  What  was  that  ?" 

"What  ?  I  didn't  hear  anything." 

"Didn't  you  ?  Well,  perhaps  I  didn't,  either.  It's  just 
my  nerves,  I  guess!  Mrs.  Barnes,  could  you  help  me 
pack  those  trunks  pretty  soon?  I'm  going  away.  I  must 
go.  If  I  stay  in  this  house  any  longer  I  shall  die." 

She  was  trembling  and  wringing  her  hands.  Thankful 
tried  to  comfort  her  and  did  succeed  in  quieting  her  some 
what,  but,  in  spite  of  her  questionings  and  pleadings  Miss 
Timpson  refused  to  reveal  the  cause  of  her  agitation  or 
of  her  sudden  determination  to  leave  the  High  Cliff 
House. 

"It  ain't  anything  you've  done  or  haven't  done,  Mrs. 
Barnes,"  she  said.  "I  like  it  here  and  I  like  the  board 
and  I  like  you.  But  I  must  go.  I'm  going  to  my  cousin's 
down  in  the  village  first  and  after  that  I  don't  know  where 
I'll  go.  Please  don't  ask  me  any  more." 

She  ate  a  few  mouthfuls  of  the  breakfast  which  Thank 
ful  hastily  prepared  for  her  and  then  she  departed  for  her 
cousin's.  Thankful  begged  her  to  stay  until  Kenelm 
came,  when  he  might  harness  the  horse  and  drive  her  to 
her  destination,  but  she  would  not  wait.  She  would  not 
even  remain  to  pack  her  trunks. 

"I'll  come  back  and  pack  'em,"  she  said.  "Or  perhaps 
you  and  Imogene  will  pack  'em  for  me.  Oh,  Mrs.  Barnes, 
you've  been  so  kind.  I  hate  to  leave  you  this  way,  I  do, 
honest." 

238 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"But  why  are  you  leavin'  ?"  asked  Thankful  once  more. 
For  the  first  time  Miss  Timpson  seemed  to  hesitate.  She 
looked  about,  as  if  to  make  sure  that  the  two  were  alone ; 
then  she  leaned  forward  and  whispered  in  her  com 
panion's  ear. 

"Mrs.  Barnes,"  she  whispered,  "I — I  didn't  mean  to 
tell  you.  I  didn't  mean  to  tell  anybody.  'Twas  too  per 
sonal,  too  sacred  a  thing  to  tell.  But  I  don't  know's  I 
shan't  tell  you  after  all;  seem's  as  if  I  must  tell  some 
body.  Mrs.  Barnes,  I  shan't  live  much  longer.  I've  had 
a  warning." 

Thankful  stared  at  her. 

"Rebecca  Timpson!"  she  exclaimed.  "Have  you  gone 
crazy  ?  What  are  you  talkin'  about  ?  A  warnin' !" 

"Yes,  a  warning.  I  was  warned  last  night.  You — you 
knew  I  was  a  twin,  didn't  you  ?" 

"A  which?" 

"A  twin.  Probably  you  didn't  know  it,  but  I  used  to 
have  a  twin  sister,  Medora,  that  died  when  she  was  only 
nineteen.  She  and  I  looked  alike,  and  were  alike,  in  most 
everything.  We  thought  the  world  of  each  other,  used  to 
be  together  daytimes  and  sleep  together  nights.  And  she 
used  to — er — well,  she  was  different  from  me  in  one  way 
— she  couldn't  help  it,  poor  thing — she  used  to  snore 
something  dreadful.  I  used  to  scold  her  for  it,  poor  soul. 
Many's  the  time  I've  reproached  myself  since,  but " 

"For  mercy  sakes,  what's  your  sister's  snorin'  got  to 
do  with " 

"Hush!  Mrs.  Barnes,"  with  intense  solemnity.  "As 
sure  as  you  and  I  live  and  breathe  this  minute,  my  sister 
Medora  came  to  me  last  night." 

"Came  to  you!  Why — you  mean  you  dreamed  about 
her,  don't  you?  There's  nothin'  strange  in  that.  When 
you  took  that  fourth  cup  of  tea  I  said  to  myself " 

239 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Hush!  Oh,  hush!  Don't  talk  so.  I  didn't  dream. 
Mrs.  Barnes,  I  woke  up  at  two  o'clock  this  morning  and 
— and  I  heard  Medora  snoring  as  plain  as  I  ever  heard 
anything." 

Thankful  was  strongly  tempted  to  laugh,  but  the  ex 
pression  on  Miss  Timpson's  face  was  so  deadly  serious 
that  she  refrained. 

"Goodness!"  she  exclaimed.  "Is  that  all?  That's 
nothin'.  A  night  like  last  night,  with  the  rain  and  the 
blinds  and  the  wind " 

"Hush!  It  wasn't  the  wind.  Don't  you  suppose  I 
know?  I  thought  it  was  the  wind  or  my  imagination  at 
first.  But  I  laid  there  and  listened  and  I  kept  hearing 
it.  Finally  I  got  up  and  lit  my  lamp;  and  still  I  heard 
it.  It  was  snoring  and  it  didn't  come  from  the  room 
I  was  in.  It  came  from  the  little  back  room  I'd  made 
into  a  study." 

Thankful's  smile  faded.  She  was  conscious  of  a  curi 
ous  prickling  at  the  roots  of  her  black  hair.  The  back 
bedroom !  The  room  in  which  Laban  Eldredge  died !  The 
room  in  which  she  herself  had  heard 

"I  went  into  that  room,"  continued  Miss  Timpson.  "I 
don't  know  how  I  ever  did  it,  but  I  did.  I  looked  every 
where,  but  there  was  nobody  there,  not  a  sign  of  anybody. 
•And  still  that  dreadful  snoring  kept  on  and  on.  And 

then  I  realized "  with  a  shudder,  "I  realized  what  I 

hadn't  noticed  before ;  that  room  was  exactly  the  size  and 
shape  of  the  one  Medora  and  I  used  to  sleep  in.  Mrs. 
Barnes,  it  was  Medora's  spirit  that  had  come  to  me.  Do 
you  wonder  I  can't  stay  here  any  longer?" 

Thankful  fought  with  her  feelings.  She  put  a  hand  on 
the  back  of  her  neck  and  rubbed  vigorously.  "Non 
sense!"  she  declared,  bravely.  "You  imagined  it  Non 
sense!  Whoever  heard  of  a  snorin'  ghost?" 

240 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

But  Miss  Timpson  only  shook  her  head.  "Good-by, 
Thankful,"  she  said.  "I  shan't  tell  anybody ;  as  I  said,  I 
didn't  mean  to  tell  you.  If — if  you  hear  that  anything's 
happened  to  me — happened  sudden,  you  know — you'll 
understand.  You  can  tell  Imogene  and  Mr.  Daniels  and 
Mr.  Hammond  that  I — that  I've  gone  visiting  to  my 
cousin  Sarah's.  That'll  be  true,  anyway.  Good-by.  You 
may  see  me  again  in  this  life,  but  I  doubt  it." 

She  hurried  away  along  the  path.  Thankful  reentered 
the  house  and  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  kitchen  floor, 
thinking.  Then  she  walked  steadily  to  the  foot  of  the 
back  stairs,  ascended  them,  and  walked  straight  to  the 
apartments  so  recently  occupied  by  the  schoolmistress. 
Miss  Timpson's  trunks  were  there  and  the  greater  part 
of  her  belongings.  Mrs.  Barnes  did  not  stop  to  look  at 
these.  She  crossed  the  larger  room  and  entered  the  little 
back  bedroom. 

The  clouds  were  breaking  and  the  light  of  the  Novem 
ber  sun  shone  in.  The  little  room  was  almost  cheerful. 
There  were  no  sounds  except  those  from  without,  the 
neigh  of  George  Washington  from  his  stall,  the  cackle 
of  the  hens,  the  hungry  grunts  of  Patrick  Henry,  the  pig, 
in  his  sty  beside  the  kitchen. 

Thankful  looked  and  listened.  Then  she  made  a  care 
ful  examination  of  the  room,  but  found  nothing  mys 
terious  or  out  of  the  ordinary.  And  yet  there  was  a  mys 
tery  there.  She  had  long  since  decided  that  her  own  ex 
perience  in  that  room  had  been  imagination,  but  now  that 
conviction  was  shaken.  Miss  Timpson  must  have  heard 
something;  she  had  heard  something  which  frightened 
her  into  leaving  the  boarding-house  she  professed  to  like 
so  well.  Ghost  or  no  ghost,  Miss  Timpson  had  gone ; 
and  one  more  source  of  income  upon  which  Mrs.  Barnes 
had  depended  went  with  her.  Slowly,  and  with  the  feel- 

241 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

ing  that  not  only  this  world  but  the  next  was  conspiring 
to  bring  about  the  failure  of  her  enterprise  and  the  ruin 
of  her  plans  and  her  hopes,  Thankful  descended  the  stairs 
to  the  kitchen  and  set  about  preparing  breakfast. 


CHAPTER  XII 

MR.  CALEB  HAMMOND  rose  that  Sunday 
morning  with  a  partially  developed  attack 
of  indigestion  and  a  thoroughly  developed 
"grouch."  The  indigestion  was  due  to  an  injudicious  par 
taking  of  light  refreshment — sandwiches,  ice  cream  and 
sarsaparilla  "tonic" — at  the  club  the  previous  evening. 
Simeon  Baker  had  paid  for  the  refreshment,  ordering 
the  supplies  sent  in  from  Mr.  Chris  Badger's  store.  Sim 
eon  had  received  an  unexpected  high  price  for  cranber 
ries  shipped  to  New  York,  and  was  in  consequence 
"flush"  and  reckless.  He  appeared  at  the  club  at  nine- 
thirty,  after  most  of  its  married  members  had  departed 
for  their  homes  and  only  a  few  of  the  younger  set  and 
one  or  two  bachelors,  like  Mr.  Hammond,  remained,  and 
announced  that  he  was  going  to  "blow  the  crowd."  The 
crowd  was  quite  willing  to  be  blown  and  said  so. 

Mr.  Hammond  ate  three  sandwiches  and  two  plates  of 
ice  cream,  also  he  smoked  two  cigars.  He  did  not  really 
feel  the  need  of  the  second  cream  or  the  second  cigar,  but, 
as  they  were  furnished  without  cost  to  him,  he  took  them 
as  a  matter  of  principle.  Hence  the  indigestion. 

The  "grouch'*  was  due  partially  to  the  unwonted  dis 
sipation  and  its  consequences  and  partly  to  the  fact  that 
his  winter  "flannels"  had  not  been  returned  by  Mrs.  Me- 
linda  Pease,  to  whom  they  had  been  consigned  for  mend 
ing  and  overhauling. 

243 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

It  was  the  tenth  of  November  and  for  a  period  of 
twenty-four  years,  ever  since  his  recovery  from  a  severe 
attack  of  rheumatic  fever,  Caleb  had  made  it  a  point  to 
lay  aside  his  summer  underwear  on  the  morning  of  No 
vember  tenth  and  don  a  heavy  suit.  Weather,  cold  or 
warm,  was  not  supposed  to  have  any  bearing  on  this 
change.  The  ninth  might  be  as  frigid  as  a  Green 
land  twilight  and  the  tenth  as  balmy  as  a  Florida  noon — 
no  matter;  on  the  ninth  Mr.  Hammond  wore  light  under 
wear  and  shivered;  on  the  tenth  he  wore  his  "flannels" 
and  perspired.  It  was  another  of  his  principles,  and 
Caleb  had  a  deserved  reputation  for  adhering  to  princi 
ple  and  being  "sot"  in  his  ways. 

So,  when,  on  this  particular  tenth  of  November,  this 
Sabbath  morning,  he  rose,  conscious  of  the  sandwiches 
and  "tonic,"  and  found  no  suit  of  flannels  ready  for  him 
to  don,  his  grouch  began  to  develop.  He  opened  his 
chamber  door  a  crack  and  shouted  through  the  crack. 

"Mrs.  Barnes,"  he  called.    "Hi— i,  Mrs.  Barnes !" 

Thankful,  still  busy  in  the  kitchen,  where  she  had  been 
joined  by  Imogene,  sent  the  latter  to  find  out  what  was 
the  matter.  Imogene  returned,  grinning. 

"He  wants  his  flannels,"  she  announced.  "Wants  to 
know  where  them  winter  flannels  Mrs.  Pease  sent  home 
yesterday  are.  Why,  ain't  they  in  his  room,  he  says." 

Thankful  sniffed.  Her  experience  with  Miss  Timp- 
son,  and  the  worry  caused  by  the  latter's  leaving,  had 
had  their  effect  upon  her  patience. 

"Mercy  sakes !"  she  exclaimed.  "Is  that  all  ?  I  thought 
the  house  was  afire.  I  don't  know  where  his  flannels  are. 
Why  should  I?  Where'd  Melindy  put  'em  when  she 
brought  'em  here?" 

Imogene  chuckled.  "I  don't  think  she  brought  'em  at 
all,"  she  replied.  "She  wa'n't  here  yesterday.  She — why, 

244 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

yes,  seems  to  me  Kenelm  said  he  heard  she  was  sick  abed 
with  a  cold." 

Thankful  nodded.  "So  she  is,"  she  said.  "Probably 
the  poor  thing  ain't  had  time  to  finish  mendin'  'em.  It's 
a  good  deal  of  a  job,  I  guess.  She  told  me  once  that  that 
Hammond  man  wore  his  inside  clothes  till  they  wa'n't 
anything  but  mendin',  just  hung  together  with  patches,  as 
you  might  say.  His  suits  and  overcoats  are  all  right 
enough  'most  always,  but  he  can't  seem  to  bear  to  spend 
money  for  anything  underneath.  Perhaps  he  riggers  that 
patches  are  good  as  anything  else,  long's  they  don't  show. 
Imogene,  go  tell  him  Melindy  didn't  fetch  'em." 

Imogene  went  and  returned  with  her  grin  broader  than 
ever. 

"He  says  she  did  bring  'em,"  she  announced.  "Says 
she  always  brings  him  his  things  on  the  ninth.  He's 
pretty  peppery  this  mornin',  seems  to  me.  Says  he  don't 
cal'late  to  stand  there  and  freeze  much  longer." 

"Freeze!  Why,  it's  the  warmest  day  we've  had  for  a 
fortni't.  The  sun's  come  out  and  it's  cleared  up  fine,  like 
Indian  summer.  Oh,  do  be  still!"  as  another  shout  for 
"Mrs.  Barnes"  came  from  above.  "Here,  never  mind, 
Imogene ;  I'll  tell  him." 

She  went  into  the  front  hall  and  called  up  the  stairs. 

"Your  things  ain't  here,  Mr.  Hammond,"  she  said. 
"Melindy  didn't  bring  'em.  She's  laid  up  with  a  cold 
and  probably  couldn't  get  'em  ready." 

"Course  she's  got  'em  ready!  She  always  has  'em 
ready.  She  knows  I  want  'em." 

"Maybe  so,  but  she  ain't  always  sick,  'tain't  likely. 
They  ain't  here,  anyway.  You  won't  need  'em  today." 

"Need  'em?  Course  I  need  'em.  It's  colder  than 
Christmas." 

"No,  it  isn't.    It's  almost  as  warm  as  September.    Put 

245 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

on  two  suits  of  your  others,  if  you're  so  cold.  And  come 
down  to  breakfast  as  soon  as  you  can.  We've  all  had 
ours." 

When  Mr.  Hammond  did  come  down  to  breakfast  his 
manner  was  that  of  a  martyr.  The  breakfast  itself,  baked 
beans  and  fishballs,  did  not  appeal  to  him,  and  he  ate  little. 
He  grumbled  as  he  drank  his  coffee. 

"Healthy  note,  this  is !"  he  muttered.  "Got  to  set 
around  and  freeze  to  death  just  'cause  that  lazy  critter 
ain't  finished  her  job.  I  pay  her  for  it,  don't  I  ?" 

Thankful  sniffed.  "I  suppose  you  do,"  she  said,  add 
ing  under  her  breath,  "though  how  much  you  pay  is  an 
other  thing." 

"Is  this  all  the  breakfast  you've  got?"  queried  Caleb. 

"Why,  yes ;  it's  what  we  always  have  Sunday  mornin's. 
Isn't  it  what  you  expected?" 

"Oh,  I  expected  it,  all  right.  Take  it  away;  I  don't 
want  no  more.  Consarn  it!  I  wish  sometimes  I  had  a 
home  of  my  own." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  have  one?  I  should  think  you 
would.  You  can  afford  it." 

Mr.  Hammond  did  not  reply.  He  folded  his  napkin, 
seized  his  hat  and  coat  and  went  out.  When  he  crossed 
the  threshold  he  shivered,  as  a  matter  of  principle. 

He  stalked  gloomily  along  the  path  by  the  edge  of  the 
bluff.  Captain  Obed  Bangs  came  up  the  path  and  they 
met. 

"Hello,  Caleb!"  hailed  the  captain.  "Fine  weather  at 
last,  eh?  Almost  like  August.  Injun  summer  at  last, 
I  cal'late.  What  you  got  your  coat  collar  turned  up  for  ? 
Afraid  of  getting  your  neck  sunburned?" 

Mr.  Hammond  grunted  and  hurried  on.  Captain  Obed 
had  chosen  a  poor  topic  if  he  desired  a  lengthy  conver 
sation. 

246 


Mrs.  Pease  lived  at  the  farther  end  of  the  village  and 
when  Caleb  reached  there  he  was  met  by  the  lady's  niece, 
Emma  Snow.  V 

"Aunt  Melindy's  real  poorly,"  said  Emma.  "She's 
been  so  for  'most  three  days.  I'm  stayin'  here  with  her 
till  she  gets  better.  No,  she  ain't  had  time  to  do  your 
mendin'  yet.  Anyhow  it's  so  nice  and  warm  you  don't 
need  the  things,  that's  a  comfort." 

It  may  have  been  a  comfort  to  her,  but  it  was  not  to 
Caleb.  He  growled  a  reply  and  turned  on  his  heel.  The 
churchgoers  along  the  main  road  received  scanty  acknowl 
edgment  of  their  greetings. 

"Ain't  you  comin'  to  meetin'  ?"  asked  Abbie  Larkin. 

"Naw,"  snarled  Caleb,  "I  ain't." 

"Why  not  ?  And  it's  such  a  lovely  day,  too." 

"Ugh!" 

"Why  ain't  you  comin'  to  meetin',  Mr.  Hammond  ?" 

"  'Cause  I  don't  feel  like  it,  that's  why." 

"I  want  to  know!  Well,  you  don't  seem  to  be  in  a 
pious  frame  of  mind,  that's  a  fact.  Better  come;  you 
may  not  feel  like  church,  but  I  should  say  you  needed  it, 
if  ever  anybody  did." 

Caleb  did  not  deign  a  reply.  He  stalked  across  the 
road  and  took  the  path  to  the  shore. 

As  he  came  opposite  the  Parker  cottage  he  saw  Han 
nah  Parker  at  the  window.  He  nodded  and  his  nod  was 
returned.  Hannah's  experience  was  as  gloomy  as  his 
own.  She  did  not  look  happy  and  somehow  the  idea 
that  she  was  not  happy  pleased  him;  Abbie  Larkin  had 
been  altogether  too  happy;  it  grated  on  him.  He  was 
miserable  and  he  wanted  company  of  his  own  kind. 
He  stopped,  hesitated,  and  then  turned  in  at  the 
Parker  gate. 

Hannah  opened  the  door. 

247 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Good  mornin',  Caleb,"  she  said.  "Come  in,  won't 
you  ?  It  looks  sort  of  chilly  outdoor." 

This  was  a  kindred  spirit.  Mr.  Hammond  entered  the 
Parker  sitting-room.  Hannah  motioned  toward  a  chair 
and  he  sat  down. 

"Mornin',  Hannah,"  said  Caleb.  "  Tis  chilly.  It'll  be 
a  mercy  if  we  don't  catch  our  deaths,  dressed  the  way 
some  of  us  be.  How's  things  with  you?" 

Miss  Parker  shook  her  head.  "Oh,  I  don't  know, 
Caleb,"  she  answered.  "They  ain't  all  they  might  be,  I'm 
afraid." 

"What's  the  matter  ?  Ain't  you  f eelin'  up  to  the  mark  ?" 

"Oh,  yes — yes;  I'm  feeling  well  enough  in  body.  I 
ain't  sick,  if  that's  what  you  mean.  I'm  kind  of  blue  and 
— and  lonesome,  that's  all.  I  try  to  bear  up  under  my 
burdens,  but  I  get  compressed  in  spirit  sometimes,  I  can't 
help  it.  Ah,  hum  a  day!" 

She  sighed  and  Mr.  Hammond  sighed  also. 

"You  ain't  the  only  one,"  he  said.  "I'm  bluer'n  a  whet 
stone  myself,  this  mornin'." 

"What's  the  trouble?" 

"Trouble  ?  Trouble  enough  !  Somethin'  happened  this 
mornin'  that  riled  me  all  up.  It "  he  paused,  remem 
bering  that  the  cause  of  the  "rilin' "  was  somewhat  per 
sonal,  not  to  say  delicate.  "Well — well,  never  mind  what 
it  was,"  he  added.  "  'Twas  mighty  aggravating  that's  all 
I've  got  to  say." 

Hannah  sighed  again.  "Ah,  hum !"  she  observed. 
"There's  aggravations  enough  in  this  life.  And  they 
generally  come  on  account  of  somebody  else,  too. 
There's  times  when  I  wish  I  didn't  have  any  flesh  and 
blood." 

"Hey  ?  Good  land !  No  flesh  and  blood !  What  do  you 
want — bones  ?" 

248 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  that.  I  wish  I  didn't  have  any — 
any  relations  of  my  own  flesh  and  blood." 

"Humph!  I  don't  know's  you'd  be  any  better  off.  I 
ain't  got  nobody  and  I  ain't  what  you  might  call  cheerful. 
I  know  what's  the  matter  with  you,  though.  That  Ken- 
elm's  been  frettin'  you  again,  I  suppose." 
!  He  had  guessed  it.  Kenelm  that  morning  had  sud 
denly  announced  that  he  was  to  have  a  day  off.  He 
was  cal'latin'  to  borrow  Mrs.  Barnes'  horse  and  buggy 
and  go  for  a  ride.  His  sister  promptly  declared  that 
would  be  lovely ;  she  was  just  wishing  for  a  ride.  Where 
upon  Kenelm  had  hemmed  and  hawed  and,  at  last, 
admitted  that  his  company  for  the  drive  was  already 
provided. 

"Oh !"  sneered  Hannah.  "I  see.  You're  goin'  to  take 
that  precious  inmate  of  yours  along.  And  I've  got  to  set 
here  alone  at  home.  Well,  I  should  think  you'd  be 
ashamed." 

"What  for  ?  Ain't  nothin'  in  takin'  a  lady  you're  keep- 
in'  company  with  out  drivin',  is  there?  I  don't  see  no 
shame  in  that." 

"No,  I  presume  likely  you  don't.  You're  way  past 
shame,  both  of  you.  And  when  I  think  of  all  I've  done 
for  you.  Slaved  and  cooked  your  meals "  < 

"Well,  you're  cookin'  'em  yet,  ain't  you  ?  I  ain't  asked 
you  to  stop." 

"I  will  stop,  though.     I  will." 

"All  right,  then ;  heave  ahead  and  stop.  I  cal'late  my 
wife'll  be  willin'  to  cook  for  me,  if  it's  needful." 

"Your  wife !  She  ain't  your  wife  yet.  And  she  shan't 
be.  This  ridiculous  engaged  business  of  yours  is — 
is " 

"Well,  if  you  don't  like  the  engagin',  why  don't  you 
Stop  it?" 

249 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Why  don't  you  stop  it,  you  mean.  You  would  if  you 
had  the  feelin's  of  a  man." 

"Humph !  And  let  some  everlastin'  lawyer  sue  me  out 
of  my  last  cent  for  damages.  All  right,  I'll  stop  it  if 
you  say  so.  There's  plenty  of  room  in  the  poorhouse, 
they  tell  me.  How'd  you  like  to  give  us  this  place  and 
move  to  the  poorhouse,  Hannah  ?" 

"But — but,  O  Kenelm,  I  can't  think  of  your  gettin' 
married!  I  can't  think  of  it!" 

"Don't  think  of  it.  7  ain't  thinkin'  of  it  no  more'n  I 
can  help.  Why  ain't  you  satisfied  with  things  as  they  be  ? 
Everything's  goin'  on  all  right  enough  now,  ain't  it  ?  You 
and  me  are  livin'  together  same  as  we  have  for  ever  so 
long.  You're  here  and  I — well,  I " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  his  sister  read 
his  thought.  She  knew  perfectly  well  that  her  brother 
was  finding  a  measure  of  enjoyment  in  the  situation, 
so  far  as  his  dealings  with  her  were  concerned.  He 
wa.s  more  independent  than  he  had  been  since  she 
took  him  in  charge.  But  she  realized,  too,  her  own 
impotence.  She  could  not  drive  him  too  hard  or  he 
might  be  driven  into  marrying  Imogene.  And  that 
Hannah  was  determined  should  be  deferred  as  long  as 
possible.  >**«».' 

',  So  she  said  no  more  concerning  the  "ride"  and  merely 
showed  her  feelings  by  moping  in  the  corner  and  wiping 
her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief  whenever  he  looked  in 
her  direction.  After  he  had  gone  she  spent  the  half-hour 
previous  to  Mr.  Hammond's  arrival  in  alternate  fits  of 
rage  and  despair. 

"So  Kenelm's  been  actin'  unlikely,  has  he?"  queried 
Caleb.  "Well,  if  he  was  my  brother  he'd  soon  come  to 
time  quick,  or  be  put  to  bed  in  a  hospital.  That's  what 
wpuld  happen  to  him" 

250 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Miss  Parker  looked  as  if  the  hospital  picture  was  more 
appealing  than  dreadful. 

"I  wish  he  was  your  brother,"  she  said.  "Or  I  wish  I 
was  independent  and  had  a  house  of  my  own." 

"Huh!  Gosh!  So  do  I  wish  I  had  one.  I've  been 
wishin'  it  all  the  mornin'.  If  I  had  a  home  of  my  own 
I'd  have  what  I  wanted  to  eat — yes,  and  wear.  And  I'd 
have  'em  when  I  wanted  'em,  too." 

"Don't  they  give  you  good  things  to  eat  over  at  Mrs. 
Barnes'?" 

"Oh,  they're  good  enough  maybe,  if  they're  what  you 
want.  But  boardin's  boardin' :  'tain't  like  your  own 
home." 

"Caleb,  it's  a  wonder  to  me  you  don't  rent  a  little  house 
and  live  in  it.  You've  got  money  enough ;  least  so  every 
body  says." 

"Humph !  What  everybody  says  is  'most  generally  lies. 
What  would  be  the  sense  of  my  hirin'  a  house?  I'd  have 
to  have  a  housekeeper  and  a  good  one  costs  like  thunder. 
A  feller's  wife  has  to  get  along  on  what  he  gives  her,  but 
a  housekeeper " 

He  stopped  short,  seemingly  struck  by  a  new  and  amaz 
ing  idea.  Miss  Parker  rambled  on  about  the  old  days 
when  "dear  papa"  was  alive;  how  happy  she  was  then, 
and  so  on,  with  occasional  recourse  to  the  handkerchief. 
Suddenly  Caleb  slapped  his  knee. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  said.  "It's  fine — and  it's  common- 
sense,  too.  Hannah,  what's  the  matter  with  you  and  me 
gettin'  married?" 

Hannah  stared  at  him. 

"Married !"  she  repeated.  "Me  get  married !  Who  to, 
for  the  land  sakes?  Are  you  out  of  your  head?" 

"Not  a  mite.  What's  the  matter  with  you  marryin' 
me?" 

251 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

'My  soul !  Is  this  a  funny-paper  joke,  or  are  you- 


'  'Tain't  a  joke;  I  mean  it.  Is  there  any  reason  why 
we  shouldn't  marry  and  settle  down  together,  you  and 
me?  I  don't  see  none.  You  could  keep  house  for  me 
then,  and  'twouldn't  cost — that  is,  you  could  look  out  for 
me,  and  I — well,  I  suppose  likely  I  could  look  out  for 
you,  too.  Why  not?" 

"Why,  how  you  talk,  Caleb  Hammond !" 

"No,  I  don't  talk  neither.  I  mean  it.  You  was  wishin' 
for  a  home  of  your  own ;  so  was  I.  Let's  have  one  to 
gether." 

"Well,  I  swan !  Get  married  at  our — at  our  age !  I 
never  did  hear  such  talk!  We'd  be  a  nice  young  bride 
and  groom,  wouldn't  we  ?  I  guess  East  Wellmouth  folks 
would  have  somethin'  to  laugh  at  then." 

"Let  'em  laugh.  Laughin'  don't  cost  nothin',  and,  if  it 
does,  we  won't  have  to  pay  for  it.  See  here,  Hannah,  this 
ain't  any  foolish  front-gate  courtin',  this  ain't.  It's  just 
common-sense  business.  Let's  do  it.  I  will  if  you  will." 

Miss  Parker  shook  her  head.  The  prospect  of  being 
Mrs.  Caleb  Hammond  was  not  too  alluring.  Caleb's  rep 
utation  as  a  husband  was  not,  while  his  wife  lived,  that 
of  a  "liberal  provider."  And  yet  this  was  Hannah's  first 
proposal,  and  it  had  come  years  after  she  had  given  up 
hoping  for  one.  So  she  prolonged  the  delicious  moment 
as  long  as  possible. 

"I  suppose  you're  thinkin'  about  that  brother  of  yours," 
suggested  Mr.  Hammond.  "Well,  he'll  be  all  right. 
'Cordin'  to  what  I've  heard,  and  seen  myself,  he's  hangin' 
around  that  hired  help  girl  at  the  High  Cliff  pretty  reg'lar 
these  days.  Maybe  he'll  marry  her  and  you'll  be  left 
without  anybody.  If  he  don't  marry  her  he  can  come  to 
live  along  of  us — maybe.  If  he  does  he'll  mind  his  p's 
and  q's,  I  tell  you  that.  He'll  find  out  who's  boss." 

252 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

This  speech  had  an  effect.  For  the  first  time  Hannah's 
determination  wavered.  Kenelm  was,  although  Caleb  did 
not  know  it,  actually  engaged  to  marry  Imogene.  His 
sister  was  even  then  writhing  under  the  humiliation.  And 
here  was  an  opportunity  to  get  even,  not  only  with  Ken- 
elm,  but  with  the  "inmate."  If  she,  Hannah,  were  to 
marry  and  leave  the  pair  instead  of  being  herself  left! 
Oh,  the  glory  of  it — the  triumphant  glory  of  it !  How 
she  could  crush  her  brother!  How  she  could  gloat  over 
and  sneer  at  Imogene !  The  things  she  might  say — she, 
the  wife  of  a  rich  man !  Oh,  wonderful ! 

"Well,  come  on,  Hannah,  come  on,"  urged  the  impa 
tient  Caleb.  "What  do  you  say?" 

But  Miss  Parker  still  shook  her  head.  "It  ain't  any 
use,  Caleb,"  she  declared.  "Even  if — if  I  wanted  to,  how 
could  I  tell  Kenelm?  He'd  raise  an  awful  fuss.  He'd  tell 
everybody  and  they " 

"No,  he  wouldn't.  I'd  break  his  neck  if  he  did.  .  .  . 

And — eh "  as  another  idea  came  to  him,  "he  needn't 

know  till  'twas  all  over.  We  could  get  married  right  off 
now,  and  not  tell  a  soul — Kenelm  or  anybody  else — till 
it  was  done.  Then  they  could  talk  or  shut  up,  we 
wouldn't  care.  They  couldn't  change  nothin'." 

"Caleb  Hammond,  do  you  suppose  I'd  have  the  face 
to  go  to  a  minister  in  this  town  and  have  you  tell  him 
we'd  come  to  get  married  ?  I'd  be  so  ashamed " 

"Hold  on!  We  don't  have  to  go  to  a  minister  in  this 
town.  There's  other  towns  with  parsons  in  them,  ain't 
they  ?  We  could  drive  over  somewheres  else." 

"Everybody'd  see  us  drivin'  together." 

"What  of  it?  They  see  us  drivin'  to  the  Cattle  Show 
together,  didn't  they?" 

"Yes,  and  they've  talked  about  it  ever  since,  some  of 
'em.  That  Abbie  Larkin  said — Oh,  I  can't  tell  you  what 

253 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

she  said.  No,  I  shan't  do  it.  I  shouldn't  have  the  face. 
And  everybody'd  ask  where  we  was  bound,  and  I'd — 
I'd  be  so — so  mortified  and — and — why,  I'd  act  like  a 
reg'lar — er — er — domicile  that  had  run  away  from  the 
Idiots'  Home.  No,  no,  no!  I  couldn't." 

Mr.  Hammond  thought  it  over.    Then  he  said : 

"See  here,  Hannah,  I  cal'late  we  can  fix  that.  We'll 
start  in  the  night,  after  all  hands  have  gone  to  bed.  I'll 
sneak  out  about  quarter  to  twelve  and  borrow  Thankful's 
horse  and  buggy  out  of  her  barn.  I  know  where  she 
keeps  the  key.  I'll  be  ready  here  at  twelve  prompt — or 
not  here,  maybe,  but  down  in  the  hollow  back  of  your 
henhouse.  You  must  be  there  and  we'll  drive  over  to 
Trumet " 

"Trumet!  Why,  Caleb  Hammond,  I  know  everybody 
in  Trumet  well's  I  do  here.  And  gettin'  to  Trumet  at 
three  o'clock  in  the  mornin'  would  be " 

"Then  we  won't  go  to  Trumet.  We'll  go  to  Bayport. 
It's  quite  a  trip,  but  that's  all  the  better  'cause  we  won't 
make  Bayport  till  daylight.  Then  we'll  hunt  up  a  parson 
to  marry  us  and  come  back  here  and  tell  folks  when  we 
get  good  and  ready.  Thankful'll  miss  the  horse  and  team, 
I  cal'late,  but  I'll  fix  that;  I'll  leave  a  note  sayin'  I  took 
the  critter,  bein'  called  away  on  business." 

"Yes,  but  what  will  I  tell  Kenelm?" 

"Don't  tell  him  anything,  the  foolhead.  Why,  yes,  you 
can  leave  a  note  sayin'  you've  gone  up  to  the  village,  to 
the  store  or  somethin',  and  that  he  must  get  his  own 
breakfast  'cause  you  won't  be  back  till  after  he's  gone  to 
work  over  to  Thankful's.  That'll  fix  it.  By  crimus! 
That'll  fix  it  fine.  Look  here,  Hannah  Parker;  I've  set 
out  to  do  this  and,  by  crimus,  I'm  goin'  to  do  it.  Come 
on  now ;  let's." 

Caleb  was,  as  has  been  said,  "sot"  in  his  ways.  He 
254 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

was  "sot"  now,  and  although  Hannah  continued  to  pro 
test  and  declare  she  could  not  do  such  a  thing,  she  yielded 
at  last.  Mr.  Hammond  left  the  Parker  cottage  in  a  tri 
umphant  mood.  He  had  won  his  point  and  that  had 
pleased  him  for  a  time ;  then,  as  he  began  to  ponder  upon 
that  point  and  its  consequences  his  triumph  changed 
to  misgiving  and  doubt.  He  had  had  no  idea,  until  that 
forenoon,  of  marrying  again.  His  proposal  had  been 
made  on  impulse,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  He  was 
not  sure  that  he  wished  to  marry  Hannah  Parker.  But 
he  had  pleaded  and  persuaded  her  into  accepting  him 
that  very  night.  Even  if  he  wished  to  back  out,  how 
could  he — now  ?  He  was  conscious  of  an  uneasy  feeling 
that,  perhaps,  he  had  made  a  fool  of  himself. 

He  went  to  his  room  early  in  the  evening  and  stayed 
there,  looking  at  his  watch  and  waiting  for  the  rest  of 
the  family  to  retire.  He  heard  Georgie's  voice  in  the 
room  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  where  Mrs.  Barnes  was  tuck 
ing  the  youngster  in  for  the  night.  Later  he  heard  Imo- 
gene  come  up  the  backstairs  and,  after  her,  Thankful  her 
self.  But  it  was  nearly  eleven  before  Heman  Daniels' 
important  and  dignified  step  sounded  on  the  front  stairs 
and  by  that  time  the  Hammond  nerves  were  as  taut  as 
banjo  strings. 

It  was  nearly  twelve  before  he  dared  creep  downstairs 
and  out  of  the  back  door,  the  key  of  which  he  left  in  the 
lock.  Luckily  the  barn  was  a  good  distance  from  the 
house  and  Mrs.  Barnes  and  Imogene  were  sound  sleep 
ers.  But  even  with  those  advantages  he  did  not  dare 
attempt  getting  the  buggy  out  of  the  barn,  and  decided 
to  use  the  old  discarded  carryall,  relic  of  "Cap'n  Abner," 
which  now  stood  under  the  open  shed  at  the  rear. 

George  Washington  looked  at  him  in  sleepy  wonder  as 
he  tiptoed  into  the  barn  and  lit  the  lantern.  To  be  led 

255 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

out  of  his  stall  at  "midnight's  solemn  hour"  and  har 
nessed  was  more  than  George's  equine  reasoning  could 
fathom.  The  harnessing  was  a  weird  and  wonderful 
operation.  Caleb's  trembling  fingers  were  all  thumbs. 
After  a  while,  however,  the  harnessing  was  accomplished 
somehow  and  in  some  way,  although  whether  the  breech 
ing  was  where  the  bridle  should  have  been  or  vice  versa 
was  more  than  the  harnesser  would  have  dared  swear. 
After  several  centuries,  as  the  prospective  bridegroom 
was  reckoning  time,  the  horse  was  between  the  shafts  of 
the  carriage  and  driven  very  carefully  along  the  road  to 
the  Parker  homestead. 

He  hitched  the  sleepy  animal  to  a  pine  tree  just  off  the 
road  and  tiptoed  toward  the  hollow,  the  appointed  ren 
dezvous.  To  reach  this  hollow  he  was  obliged  to  pass 
through  the  Parker  yard  and,  although  he  went  on  tiptoe, 
each  footstep  sounded,  in  his  ears,  like  the  crack  of  doom. 
He  tried  to  think  of  some  explanation  to  be  made  to 
Kenelm  in  case  the  latter  should  hear  and  hail  him,  but 
he  could  think  of  nothing  more  plausible  than  that  he 
was  taking  a  walk,  and  this  was  far  from  satisfactory. 

And  then  he  was  hailed.  From  a  window  above,  at 
the  extreme  end  of  the  kitchen,  came  a  trembling  whisper. 

"Caleb!    Caleb  Hammond,  is  that  you?" 

Mr.  Hammond's  heart,  which  had  been  thumping  any 
thing  but  a  wedding  march  beneath  the  summer  under- 
flannels,  leaped  up  and  stuck  in  his  throat ;  but  he  choked 
it  down  and  gasped  a  faint  affirmative. 

"Oh,  my  soul  and  body!  Where  have  you  been?  I've 
been  waitin'  and  waitin'." 

"What  in  time  did  you  wait  up  there  for?  Why  don't 
you  come  down?" 

"I  can't.  Kenelm's  locked  the  doors,  and  the  keys  are 
right  next  to  his  room  door.  I  can't  get  down." 

256 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Here  was  an  unexpected  obstacle.  Caleb  was  non 
plused. 

"Go  home!"  wailed  the  voice  from  above.  "Don't 
stand  there.  Go  home!  Can't  you  see  it  ain't  any  use? 
Go  home!" 

Five  minutes  before  he  received  this  order  Mr.  Ham 
mond  would  have  been  only  too  glad  to  go  home.  Now 
he  was  startled  and  angry  and,  being  angry,  his  habitual 
stubbornness  developed. 

"I  shan't  go  home  neither,"  he  whispered,  fiercely. 
"If  you  can't  come  down  I'll — I'll  come  up  and  get 
you." 

"Shh— shh!   He'll  hear  you.    Kenelm'll  hear  you." 

"I  don't  care  much  if  he  does.  See  here,  Hannah,  can't 
you  get  down  nohow  ?  How  about  that  window  ?  Can't 
you  climb  out  of  that  window  ?  Say,  didn't  I  see  a  ladder 
layin'  alongside  the  woodshed  this  mornin'?" 

"Yes,  there's  a  ladder  there,  but — where  are  you  goin'  ? 
Mr.  Hammond — Caleb " 

But  Caleb  was  on  his  way  to  the  woodshed.  He  found 
the  ladder  and  laboriously  dragged  it  beneath  the  window. 
Kenelm  Parker  had  a  local  reputation  for  sleeping  like 
the  dead.  Otherwise  Mr.  Hammond  would  never  have 
dared  risk  the  noise  he  was  making. 

Even  after  the  ladder  had  been  placed  in  position,  Miss 
Parker  hesitated.  At  first  she  flatly  refused  to  descend, 
asserting  that  no  mortal  power  could  get  her  down  that 
thing  alive.  But  Caleb  begged  and  commanded  in  agon 
ized  whispers,  and  finally  she  was  prevailed  upon  to  try. 
Mr.  Hammond  grasped  the  lower  end  of  the  ladder  with 
a  grip  that  brought  the  perspiration  out  upon  his  fore 
head,  and  the  lady,  with  suppressed  screams  and  ejacu 
lations  of  "Oh,  good  Lord!"  and  "Heavens  and  earth! 
What  shall  I  do?"  reached  the  ground  safe  and  more  or 

257 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

less  sound.  They  left  the  ladder  where  it  was,  and  tip 
toed  fearfully  out  to  the  lane. 

"Whew !"  panted  the  exhausted  swain,  mopping  his 
brow.  "I'm  clean  tuckered  out.  I  ain't  done  so  much 
work  for  ten  years." 

"Don't  say  a  word,  Caleb  Hammond.  If  I  ain't  got 
my  death  of — of  ammonia  or  somethin',  I  miss  my  guess. 
I'm  all  wheezed  up  from  settin'  at  that  open  winder  wait- 
in'  for  you  to  come;  and  I  thought  you  never  would 
come." 

As  Caleb  was  helping  the  lady  of  his  choice  into  the 
carryall  he  noticed  that  she  carried  a  small  hand-bag. 

"What  you  got  that  thing  for?"  he  demanded. 

"It's  my  reticule;  there's  a  clean  handkerchief  and  a 
few  other  things  in  it.  Mercy  on  us!  You  didn't  sup 
pose  I'd  go  off  to  get  married  without  even  a  decent 
handkerchief,  did  you?  I  feel  enough  like  a  sneakin' 
ragamuffin  and  housebreaker  as  'tis.  Why  I  ever  was 
crazy  enough  to — where  have  you  put  the  horse?" 

Mr.  Hammond  led  her  to  where  George  Washington 
was  tethered.  The  father  of  his  country  was  tired  of 
standing  alone  in  the  damp,  and  he  trotted  off  briskly. 
The  first  mile  of  their  journey  was  accomplished  safely, 
although  the  night  was  pitch-dark,  and  when  they  turned 
into  the  Bayport  Road,  which  for  two-thirds  of  its  length 
leads  through  thick  soft  pine  and  scrub-oak  woods,  it 
was  hard  to  distinguish  even  the  horse's  ears.  Miss 
Parker  insisted  that  every  curtain  of  the  carryall — at  the 
back  and  both  sides — should  be  closely  buttoned  down,  as 
she  was  fearful  of  the  effects  of  the  night  air. 

"Fresh  air  never  hurts  nobody,"  said  Caleb.  "There 
ain't  nothin'  so  good  for  a  body  as  fresh  air.  I  sleep  with 
my  window  open  wide  winter  and  summer." 

"You  do?  Well,  I  tell  you  right  now,  I  don't.  I  should 
258 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

say  not!  I  shut  every  winder  tight  and  I  make  Kenelm 
do  the  same  thing.  I  don't  run  any  risks  from  drafts." 

Mr.  Hammond  grunted,  and  was  silent  for  some  little 
time,  only  brightening  up  when  the  lady,  now  in  a  meas 
ure  recovered  from  her  fright  and  the  anxiety  of  waiting, 
began  to  talk  of  the  blessings  that  were  to  come  from 
their  independent  wedded  life  in  a  home  of  their  own. 

"We'll  keep  chickens,"  she  said,  "because  I  do  like 
fresh  eggs  for  breakfast.  Let's  see ;  this  ils  the  way  'twill 
be;  you'll  get  up  about  five  o'clock  and  kindle  the  fire, 
and " 

"Hey?" 

"I  say  you'll  get  up  at  five  o'clock  and  kindle  the  fire." 

"Me  get  up  and  kindle  it  ?" 

"Sartin;  you  don't  expect  I'm  goin'  to,  do  you?" 

"No-o,  I  suppose  not.  It  come  kind  af  sudden,  that's 
all.  You  see,  I've  been  used  to  turnin'  out  about  seven. 
Seldom  get  up  afore  that." 

"Seven!  My  soul!  I  always  have  my  breakfast  et  by 
seven.  Well,  as  I  say,  you  get  up  at  five  and  kindle  the 
fire,  and  then  you'll  go  out  to  the  henyard  and  get  what 
eggs  there  is.  Then " 

"Then  I'll  come  in  and  call  you,  and  you'll  come  down 
and  get  breakfast.  What  breakfasts  we  will  have !  Eggs 
for  you,  if  you  want  'em,  and  ham  and  fried  potatoes 
for  me,  and  pie " 

"Pie?    For  breakfast?" 

"Sartin.  Laviny  Marthy,  my  first  wife,  always  had  a 
piece  of  pie  warmed  for  me,  and  I've  missed  it  since.  I 
don't  really  care  two  cents  for  breakfast  without  pie." 

"Well  now,  Caleb,  if  you  think  I'm  goin'  to  get  up 
and  warm  up  pie  every  mornin',  let  alone  f ryin'  potatoes, 
and " 

"See  here,  Hannah!  Seems  to  me  if  I'm  willin'  to 
259 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

turn  out  at  that  ungodly  hour  and  then  go  scratchin' 
around  the  henhouse  to  please  you,  you  might  be  willin' 
to  have  a  piece  of  pie  het  up  for  me." 

"Well,  maybe  you're  right.  But  I  must  say — well,  I'll 
try  and  do  it.  It'll  seem  kind  of  hard,  though,  after  the 
simple  breakfasts  Kenelm  and  I  have  when  we're  alone. 
But — what  are  you  stoppin'  for?" 

"There  seems  to  be  a  kind  of  crossroads  here,"  said 
Caleb,  bending  forward  and  peering  out  of  the  carryall. 
"It's  so  everlastin'  dark  a  feller  can't  see  nothin'.  Yes, 
there  is  crossroads,  three  of  'em.  Now,  which  one  do 
we  take?  I  ain't  drove  to  Bayport  direct  for  years. 
When  we  went  to  the  Cattle  Show  we  went  up  through 
the  Centre.  Do  you  know  which  is  the  right  road, 
Hannah  ?" 

Hannah  peered  forth  from  the  blackness  of  the  back 
seat.  "Now,  let  me  think,"  she  said.  "Last  time  I  went 
to  Bayport  by  this  road  was  four  year  ago  come  next 
February.  Sarah  Snow's  daughter  Becky  was  married 
to  a  feller  named  Higgins — Solon  Higgins'  son  'twas. 
No,  'twa'n't  his  son,  because " 

"Aw,  crimus!  Who  cares  if  'twas  his  aunt's  gran'- 
mother?  What  I  want  to  know  is  which  road  to  take." 

"Well,  seems  to  me,  nigh  as  I  can  recollect,  that  we 
took  the  left-hand  road.  No,  I  ain't  sure  but  'twas  the 
right-hand.  There's  a  bare  chance  that  it  might  have  been 
the  middle  one,  'cause  there  was  trees  along  both  sides.  I 
know  we  was  goin'  to  Becky  Snow's  weddin' " 

"Trees  'long  it !  There  ain't  nothin'  but  trees  for  two 
square  miles  around  these  diggin's.  Git  dap,  you !  I'll 
take  the  right-hand  road.  I  think  that's  the  way." 

"Well,  so  do  I ;  but,  as  I  say,  I  ain't  sure.  You  needn't 
be  so  cross  and  unlikely,  whether  'tis  or  'tain't." 

If  the  main  road  had  been  dark,  the  branch  road  was 
260 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

darker,  and  the  branches  of  the  trees  slapped  and 
scratched  the  sides  of  the  carryall.  Caleb's  whole  atten 
tion  was  given  to  his  driving,  and  he  said  nothing.  Miss 
Parker  at  length  broke  the  dismal  silence. 

"Caleb,"  she  said,  "what  time  had  we  ought  to  get 
to  Bayport?" 

"About  four  o'clock,  I  should  think.  We'll  drive 
'round  till  about  seven  o'clock,  and  then  we'll  go  and  get 
married.  I  used  to  know  the  Methodist  minister  there, 
and " 

"Methodist  minister!  You  ain't  goin'  to  a  Methodist 
minister  to  be  married?" 

"I  sartin  shouldn't  go  to  no  one  else.  I've  been  goin' 
to  the  Methodist  church  for  over  thirty  year.  You  know 
that  well's  I  do." 

"I  snum  I  never  thought  of  it,  or  you  wouldn't  have 
got  me  this  far  without  settlin'  that  question.  I  was 
confirmed  into  the  Baptist  faith  when  I  was  twelve  year 
old.  And  you  must  have  known  that  just  as  well  as  I 
knew  you  was  a  Methodist." 

"Well,  if  you  knew  I  was  one  you  ought  to  know  I'd 
want  a  Methodist  to  marry  me.  'Twas  a  Methodist  mar 
ried  me  afore." 

"Humph !  What  do  you  suppose  I  care  who  married 
you  before?  I'm  the  one  that's  goin'  with  you  to  be  mar 
ried  now ;  and  if  I  was  married  by  anybody  but  a  Baptist 
minister  I  wouldn't  feel  as  if  I  was  married  at  all." 

"Well,  7  shan't  be  married  by  no  Baptist." 

"No  Methodist  shall  marry  me." 

"Now,  look  here,  Hannah " 

"I  don't  care,  Caleb.  You  ain't  done  nothin'  but  con 
tradict  me  since  we  started.  I've  been  settin'  up  all 
night,  and  I'm  tired  out,  and  there's  a  draft  comin'  in 
'round  these  plaguy  curtains  right  on  the  back  of  my 

261 


neck.  I'll  get  cold  and  die  and  you'll  have  a  funeral  on 
your  hands  instead  of  a  weddin'.  And  I  don't  know's 
I'd  care  much,"  desperately. 

Caleb  choked  down  his  own  irritation. 

"There,  there,  Hannah,"  he  said,  "don't  talk  about  dyin' 
when  you're  just  gettin'  ready  to  live.  We  won't  fret 
about  the  minister  business.  If  worst  comes  to  worst 
I'll  give  in  to  a  Baptist,  I  suppose.  One  reason  I  did 
figger  on  goin'  to  a  Methodist  was  that,  I  bein'  of  that 
faith,  I  thought  maybe  he'd  do  the  job  a  little  cheaper 
for  us." 

"Cheaper?  What  do  you  mean?  Was  you  cal'latin' 
to  make  a  bargain  with  him  ?" 

"No,  no,  course  not.  But  there  ain't  any  sense  in 
heavin'  money  away  on  a  parson  more'n  on  anybody 
else." 

"Caleb  Hammond,  how  much  do  you  intend  givin' 
that  minister?" 

Mr.  Hammond  stirred  uneasily  on  the  seat  of  the 
carryall. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  answered  evasively. 

"Yes,  you  do  know,  too.    How  much  ?" 

"I  don't  know.    Two  or  three  dollars,  maybe." 

"Two  or  three  dollars!  My  soul  and  body!  Is  two 
dollars  all  you're  willin'  to  give  up  to  get  married?  Is 
that  all  the  ceremony's  worth  to  you?  Two  dollars! 
My  soul !" 

"Oh,  let  up !  I  don't  care.  I'll— I'll "  after  a  des 
perate  wrestle  with  his  sense  of  economy.  "I'll  give  him 
whatever  you  say — in  reason.  Eh !  .  .  .  What's  that 
foolhead  horse  stoppin'  for  now?  What  in  the  tunket's 
the  matter  with  him?" 

The  matter  was  simply  that  in  his  hasty  harnessing 
Mr.  Hammond  had  but  partially  buckled  one  of  the 

262 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

girths,  and  the  horse  was  now  half-way  out  of  the  shafts, 
with  the  larger  part  of  the  harness  well  up  towards  his 
ears.  Caleb  groaningly  climbed  down  from  the  seat, 
rummaged  out  and  lit  the  lantern,  which  he  had  been 
thoughtful  enough  to  put  under  the  seat  before  starting, 
and  proceeded  to  repair  damages.  This  took  a  long 
time,  and  in  getting  back  to  the  carryall  he  tore  a  triangu 
lar  rent  in  the  back  of  his  Sunday  coat.  He  had  donned 
his  best  clothes  to  be  married  in,  and,  to  add  to  his 
troubles,  had  left  his  watch  in  the  fob-pocket  of  his  every 
day  trousers,  so  they  had  no  means  of  knowing  the  time. 

"That's  a  nice  mess,"  he  grumbled,  taking  off  his  coat 
to  examine  the  tear  by  the  light  of  the  lantern.  "Nice- 
lookin'  rag-bag  I'll  be  to  get  married." 

"Maybe  I  can  mend  it  when  we  get  to  Bayport,"  said 
Miss  Parker. 

"What'll  you  mend  it  with — pins?" 

"No,  there's  a  needle  and  thread  in  my  reticule.  Wait 
till  we  get  to  Bayport  and  then " 

"Can't  mend  it  in  broad  daylight  ridin  up  and  down 
the  main  street,  can  you?  And  I'd  look  pretty  shuckin' 
my  coat  in  the  minister's  parlor  for  you  to  patch  up  the 
holes  in  it.  Couldn't  you  mend  it  now  ?" 

Hannah  announced  her  willingness  to  try,  and  the  reti 
cule  being  produced,  the  needle  was  threaded  after  numer 
ous  trials,  and  the  mending  began.  Caleb,  holding  the 
lantern,  watched  the  operation  anxiously,  his  face  falling 
at  every  stitch. 

"I'm  afraid  I  haven't  made  a  good  job  of  it,"  sighed 
Hannah,  gazing  sorrowfully  at  the  puckered  and  wrinkled 
star  in  the  back  of  the  garment.  "If  you'd  only  held  that 
lantern  steady,  instead  of  jigglin'  it  round  and  round  so, 
I  might  have  done  better." 

Mr.  Hammond  said  nothing,  but  struggled  into  his 
263 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

coat,  and  picked  up  the  reins.  He  sighed,  heavily,  and 
his  sigh  was  echoed  from  the  back  seat  of  the  carryall. 

The  road  was  now  very  rough,  and  the  ruts  were  deep 
and  full  of  holes.  George  Washington  seemed  to  be 
stumbling  through  tall  grass  and  bushes,  and  the  carryall 
jolted  and  rocked  from  side  to  side.  Miss  Parker  grew 
more  and  more  nervous.  After  a  particularly  severe  jolt 
she  could  not  hold  in  any  longer. 

"Land  of  love,  Caleb !"  she  gasped.  "Where  are  you 
goin' !  It  doesn't  seem  as  if  this  could  be  the  right  road !" 

"I  don't  know  whether  'tis  or  not ;  but  it's  too  narrow 
and  too  dark  to  turn  'round,  so  we've  got  to  go  ahead, 
that's  all." 

"Oh,  heavens!  What  a  jounce  that  was!  Seems  to 
me  you're  awful  reckless.  I  wish  Kenelm  was  drivin'; 
he's  always  so  careful." 

This  was  too  much.  Mr.  Hammond  suppressed  his 
feelings  no  longer. 

"I  wish  to  thunder  he  was!"  he  roared.  "I  wish 
Kenelm  or  some  other  dam'  fool  was  here  instead  of 
me." 

"Caleb  Hammond!" 

"I  don't  care,  Hannah.  You're  enough  to  drive  a 
deacon  to  swearin'.  It's  been  nothin'  but  nag,  nag,  nag, 
fight,  fight,  fight  ever  since  this  cruise  started.  If — if 
we  row  like  this  afore  we're  married  what'll  it  be  after 
wards  ?  Talk  about  bein'  independent !  Git  dap  there !" 
this  a  savage  roar  at  George  Washington,  who  had 
stopped  again.  "I  do  believe  the  idiot's  struck  with 
a  palsy." 

Hannah  leaned  forward  and  touched  her  fellow-suf 
ferer  on  the  arm.  "Sshh,  shh,  Caleb !"  she  said.  "Don't 
holler  so.  I  don't  blame  you  for  hollerin'  and — and  I 
declare  I  don't  know  as  I  much  blame  you  for  swearin', 

264 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

though  I  never  thought  I'd  live  to  say  a  thing  like  that. 
But  it  ain't  the  horse  deserves  to  be  sworn  at.  He  ain't 
the  idiot ;  the  idiots  are  you  and  me.  We  was  both  of 
us  out  of  sorts  this  mornin',  I  guess — I  know  I  was — 
and  then  you  come  along  and  we  talked  and — and,  well, 
we  both  went  into  this  foolish,  ridiculous,  awful  piece  of 
silliness  without  stoppin'  to  figger  out  whether  we  really 
wanted  to,  or  whether  we  was  liable  to  get  along  together, 
or  anything  else.  Caleb,  I've  been  wantin'  to  say  this 
for  the  last  hour  or  more — now  I'm  goin'  to  say  it :  You 
turn  that  horse's  head  around  and  start  right  home 
again." 

Mr.  Hammond  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  said. 

"I  say  yes.  I  don't  want  to  marry  you  and  I  don't 
believe  you  want  to  marry  me.  Now  do  you — honest?" 

Caleb  was  silent  for  a  full  minute.  Then  he  drew  a 
deep  breath. 

"It  don't  make  no  difference  whether  I  do  or  not,  fur's 
I  can  see,"  he  said,  gloomily.  "It's  too  late  to  start 
home  now.  I  don't  know  what  time  'tis,  but  we  must 
have  been  ridin'  three  or  four  hours — seems  eight  or 
ten  year  to  me — and  we  ought  to  be  pretty  near  to  Bay- 
port.  If  we  should  turn  back  now  we  wouldn't  get  home 
till  long  after  daylight,  and  everybody  would  be  up  and 
wantin'  to  know  the  whys  and  wherefores.  If  we  told 
'em  we'd  been  ridin'  around  together  all  night,  and  didn't 
give  any  reasons  for  it,  there'd  be  talk  enough  to  last  till 
Judgment.  No,  we've  just  got  to  get  married  now. 
That's  all  there  is  to  it." 

Hannah  groaned  as  the  truth  of  this  statement  dawned 
upon  her.  Caleb  gathered  the  reins  in  his  hands  pre 
paratory  to  driving  on,  when  a  new  thought  came  to 
him. 

265 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Say,  Hannah,"  he  observed,  "I  suppose  you  left  that 
note  for  Kenelm,  didn't  you?" 

Miss  Parker  uttered  a  faint  shriek. 

"Oh,  my  soul!"  she  cried.  "I  didn't!  I  didn't!  I 
wrote  it,  but  I  was  so  upset  when  I  found  I  couldn't  get 
the  doorkey  and  get  out  that  way  that  I  left  the  note  in 
my  bureau  drawer." 

"Tut,  tut!  Huh!  Well,  he  may  find  it  there;  let's 
hope  he  does." 

"But  he  won't!  He  won't!  He  never  finds  anything, 
even  if  it's  in  plain  sight.  He  won't  know  what's  become 
of  me " 

"And  he'll  most  likely  have  the  whole  town  out  lookin' 
for  you.  I  guess  now  you  see  there's  nothin'  to  do  but 
for  us  to  get  married — don't  you?" 

"Oh !  Oh !  Oh !"  wailed  Miss  Parker,  and  burst  into 
tears. 

Caleb  groaned.  "Git  dap!"  he  shouted  to  the  horse. 
"No  use  cryin',  Hannah.  Might's  well  grin  and  bear  it. 
The  joyful  bridal  party'll  now  proceed." 

But  the  horse  refused  to  proceed,  and  his  driver,  peer 
ing  forward,  dimly  saw  a  black  barrier  in  front  of  him. 
He  lit  the  lantern  once  more  and,  getting  out  of  the 
carryall,  discovered  that  the  road  apparently  ended  at  a 
rail  fence  that  barred  further  progress. 

"Queer,"  he  said.  "We  must  be  pretty  nigh  civiliza 
tion.  Got  to  Bayport,  most  likely,  Hannah ;  there  seems 
to  be  a  buildin'  ahead  of  us  there.  I'm  goin'  to  take 
the  lantern  and  explore.  You  set  still  till  I  come  back." 

But  this  Miss  Parker  refused  to  do.  She  declared 
that  she  would  not  wait  alone  in  those  woods  for  anybody 
or  anything.  If  her  companion  was  going  to  explore  so 
was  she.  So  Mr.  Hammond  assisted  her  to  alight,  and 
after  he  had  taken  down  the  bars,  the  pair  went  on 

266 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

through  a  grove  to  where  a  large  building  loomed  against 
the  sky. 

"A  church,"  said  Caleb.  "One  of  the  Bayport  churches, 
I  cal'late.  Wonder  which  'tis  ?" 

"There's  always  a  sign  on  the  front  of  a  church," 
said  Hannah.  "Let's  go  around  front  and  see." 

There  were  no  trees  in  front  of  the  church,  and  when 
they  came  out  by  the  front  platform,  Miss  Parker  ex 
claimed,  "Well,  I  never!  I  wouldn't  believe  I'd  remem 
ber  so  clear.  This  church  seems  just  as  familiar  as  if  I 
was  here  yesterday.  Why,  what's  the  matter?" 

Mr.  Hammond  was  standing  on  the  platform,  holding 
his  lantern  up  before  a  gilt-lettered  placard  by  the  church 
door. 

"Hannah,"  he  gurgled,  "this  night's  been  too  much  for 
me.  My  foolishness  has  struck  out  of  my  brains  into 
my  eyes.  I  can't  read  straight.  Look  here." 

Hannah  clambered  up  beside  her  agitated  companion, 
and  read  from  the  placard  these  words : 

FIRST  BAPTIST  CHURCH 
REV.  JONATHAN  LANGWORTHY,  PASTOR 

"Good  land!"  she  exclaimed.  "Mr.  Langworthy! 
Why,  Mr.  Langworthy  is  the  minister  at  Wellmouth 
Centre,  ain't  he  ?  I  thought  he  was." 

"He  is,  but  perhaps  there's  another  one." 

"No,  there  ain't — not  another  Baptist.  And — and  this 
church,  what  little  I  can  see  of  it,  looks  like  the  Well- 
mouth  Centre  Baptist  Church,  too;  I  declare  it  does! 
.  .  .  Where  are  you  goin'  ?" 

Caleb  did  not  reply,  neither  did  he  turn  back.  Hannah, 
who  did  not  propose  to  be  left  alone  there  in  the  dark, 
was  hurrying  after  him,  but  he  stopped  and  when  she 

267 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

reached  his  side  she  found  him  holding  the  lantern  and 
peering  at  an  iron  gate  in  a  white  fence.  His  face,  seen 
by  the  lantern  light,  was  a  picture  of  bewildered  amaze 
ment. 

"What  is  it  ?"  she  demanded.    "What  is  it  ?" 

He  did  not  answer,  but  merely  pointed  to  the  gate. 

"Eh  ?  What— why— why,  Caleb,  that's— ain't  that  the 
Nickerson  memorial  gate?  ...  It  can't  be!  But — 
but  it  is!  Why " 

Mr.  Hammond  was  muttering  to  himself. 

"We  took  the  wrong  road  at  the  crossin'/'  he  said. 
"Then  we  must  have  switched  again,  probably  when  we 
was  arguin'  about  kindlin'  the  fire;  then  we  must  have 
turned  again  when  the  harness  broke  ;  and  that  must  have 
fetched  us  into  Lemuel  Ellis'  wood-lot  road  that  comes 
out " 

"Eh  ?  Lemuel  Ellis'  wood-lot  ?  Why,  Lemuel's  wood- 
lot  is  at " 

"It's  at  Wellmouth  Centre,  that's  where  'tis.  No  won 
der  that  church  looked  familiar.  Hannah,  we  ain't  been 
nigh  Bayport.  We've  been  ridin'  round  and  round  in 
circles  through  them  woods  all  night." 

"Caleb  Hammond!" 

Before  Caleb  could  add  anything  to  his  astonishing 
statement  the  silence  of  the  night  was  broken  by  the 
clang  of  the  bell  in  the  tower  of  the  church.  It  clanged 
four  times. 

"What!"  exclaimed  Caleb.  "Only  four  o'clock!  It 
can't  be !" 

"My  soul!"  cried  Miss  Parker.  "Only  four!  Why — 
why,  I  thought  we'd  been  ridin'  ten  hours  at  least.  .  .  . 
Caleb  Hammond,  you  and  me  don't  want  to  find  a  minis 
ter;  what  we  need  to  look  up  is  a  pair  of  guardians  to 
take  care  of  us." 

268 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

But  Mr.  Hammond  seized  her  arm. 

"Hannah,"  he  cried,  excitedly,  "do  you  understand 
what  that  means — that  clock  strikin'?  It  means  that, 
bein'  as  we're  only  five  miles  from  home,  we  can  get 
home,  if  we  want  to,  afore  anybody's  out  of  bed.  You 
can  sneak  up  that  ladder  again ;  I  can  get  that  horse  and 
team  back  in  Thankf ul's  stable ;  we  can  both  be  in  our 
own  beds  by  gettin'-up  time  and  not  one  soul  need  ever 
know  a  word  about  this  foolishness.  If  we " 

But  Miss  Parker  had  not  waited  for  him  to  finish; 
she  was  already  on  her  way  to  the  carryall. 

At  a  quarter  after  seven  that  morning  Thankful 
knocked  at  the  door  of  her  boarder's  room. 

"Mr.  Hammond!"  she  called.    "Mr.  Hammond!" 

Caleb  awoke  with  a  start. 

"Eh?"  he  said. 

"Are  you  up?    It's  most  breakfast  time." 

Caleb,  now  more  thoroughly  awake,  looked  about  his 
room.  It  was  real;  he  was  actually  in  it — and  safe — 
and  still  single. 

"Yes — yes;  all  right,"  he  said.  "I'll  get  right  up. 
Must  have  overslept  myself,  I  guess.  What — what  made 
you  call  me  ?  Nothin' — er — nothin's  happened,  has  it  ?" 

"No,  nothin's  happened.  But  you're  usually  up  by 
seven  and,  as  I  hadn't  heard  a  sound  from  you,  I  was 
afraid  you  might  be  sick." 

"No,  no ;  I  ain't  sick.  I'm  feelin'  fine.  Has — has 
Kenelm  Parker  got  here  yet  ?" 

"Yes,  he's  here." 

"Ain't — ain't  said  nothin',  has  he?" 

"Said  anything?  No.  What  do  you  mean ?  What  did 
you  expect  him  to  say?" 

"Nothin',  nothin',  I — I  wondered  what  sort  of  a  drive 
269 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

he  and  Imogene  had  yesterday,  that's  all.  I  thought  it 
would  be  fine  to  hear  him  tell  about  it.  You  run  along, 
Mrs.  Barnes ;  I'll  hurry  and  get  dressed." 

He  jumped  out  of  bed.  He  was  tired  and  lame  and 
his  head  ached — but,  Oh,  he  was  happy !  He  had  stabled 
George  Washington  and  reached  his  room  without  dis 
turbing  anyone.  And,  as  Kenelm  had,  according  to  Mrs. 
Barnes,  spoken  and  appeared  as  usual,  it  was  evident 
that  Hannah  Parker,  too,  had  gotten  safely  and  unde 
tected  to  her  own  apartment. 

Thankful  knocked  at  his  door  again. 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  said,  "but  Melindy  Pease  hasn't  sent 
home  your  mendin'  yet.  I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  do 
without  your — er — your  winter  things  for  one  more  day." 

"Hey  ?  My  winter — Oh,  yes,  yes.  Well,  I  don't  care. 
It's  warmer  today  than  'twas  yesterday." 

"Oh  no,  it  isn't;  it's  a  good  deal  colder.  I  hope  you 
won't  catch  cold." 

"No,  no,  I  shan't.    I'm  feelin'  fine." 

"Well,  thank  goodness  for  that." 

"Thank  goodness  for  a  good  many  things,"  said  Mr. 
Hammond,  devoutly. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IF  KENELM  noticed  that  George  Washington  seemed 
unusually  tired  that  morning,  or  that  the  old  carry 
all  behind  the  barn  had  some  new  scratches  on  its 
sides  and  wheels,  and  leaves  and  pine  needles  on  its  cush 
ions  and  floor,  he  did  not  mention  what  he  saw.  For  a 
day  o'r  two  both  Mr.  Hammond  and  Miss  Parker  were 
anxious  and  fearful,  but  as  nothing  was  said  and  no  ques 
tions  were  asked,  they  began  to  feel  certain  that  no  one 
save  themselves  knew  of  the  elopement  which  had  turned 
out  to  be  no  elopement  at  all.  For  a  week  Hannah's 
manner  toward  her  brother  was  sweetness  itself.  She 
cooked  the  dishes  he  liked  and  permitted  him  to  do  as 
he  pleased  without  once  protesting  or  "nagging."  She  had 
done  comparatively  little  of  the  latter  since  the  announce 
ment  of  the  "engagement,"  but  now  she  was  more  con 
siderate  and  self-sacrificing  than  ever.  If  Kenelm  was 
aware  of  the  change  he  made  no  comment  upon  it,  per 
haps  thinking  it  good  policy  to  let  well  enough  alone. 
Gradually  the  eloping  couple  began  to  feel  that  their 
secret  was  secure  and  to  cease  worrying  about  it.  But 
Caleb  called  no  more  at  the  Parker  cottage  and  when  he 
and  Hannah  met  they  bowed,  but  did  not  stop  to  con 
verse. 

Miss  Timpson's  sudden  departure  from  the  High  Cliff 
House  caused  less  talk  than  Thankful  had  feared.  It 
happened  that  the  "cousin  Sarah"  to  whose  home  Miss 

271 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Abigail  had  fled,  was  seized  with  an  attack  of  grippe 
and  this  illness  was  accepted  as  the  cause  of  the  school 
mistress's  move.  And  Miss  Timpson  herself  kept  her 
word  ;  she  told  no  one  of  the  "warning"  she  had  received. 
So  Thankful  was  spared  the  gossip  and  questioning  con 
cerning  the  snoring  ghost  in  the  back  bedroom.  For 
so  much  she  was  grateful,  but  she  missed  the  weekly 
room  rent  and  the  weekly  board  money.  The  financial 
situation  was  becoming  more  and  more  serious  for  her, 
and  as  yet  Solomon  Cobb  had  not  made  known  his 
decision  in  the  matter  of  the  mortgage. 

During  the  week  following  Miss  Timpson's  departure 
Thankful  spent  several  nights  in  the  rooms  the  former 
had  vacated,  lying  awake  and  listening  for  sounds  from 
the  back  bedroom.  She  heard  none.  No  ghost  snored 
for  her  benefit.  Then  other  happenings,  happenings  of 
this  world,  claimed  her  attention  and  she  dropped  psy 
chical  research  for  the  time. 

The  first  of  these  happenings  was  the  most  surprising. 
One  forenoon  Kenelm  returned  from  an  errand  to  the 
village  bringing  the  morning's  mail  with  him.  There 
were  two  letters  for  Mrs.  Barnes.  One  was  from  Emily 
and,  as  this  happened  to  be  on  top,  Thankful  opened  it 
first. 

There  was  good  news  in  the  letter,  good  news  for 
Georgie  and  also  for  Mrs.  Barnes  herself.  Georgie  had 
been  enjoying  himself  hugely  during  his  stay  in  East 
Wellmouth.  He  spent  every  moment  of  pleasant  weather 
out  of  doors  and  his  energetic  exuberance  kept  the  live 
stock  as  well  as  the  humans  on  the  "Cap'n  Abner  place" 
awake  and  lively.  He  fed  the  hens,  he  collected  the  eggs, 
he  pumped  and  carried  water  for  George  Washington ; 
and  the  feeding  of  Patrick  Henry  was  his  especial  care. 
That  pig,  now  a  plump  and  somnolent  porker,  was 

272 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Georgie's  especial  favorite.  It  was  past  "hog-killing  time" 
in  East  Wellmouth,  but  Thankful  had  given  up  the  idea 
of  turning  Patrick  Henry  into  spare  ribs  and  lard,  at  least 
until  her  lively  young  relative's  visit  was  at  an  end. 
That  end  was  what  Georgie  feared.  He  did  not  want  to 
go  home.  Certainly  Thankful  did  not  want  him  to  go, 
and  she  and  Captain  Obed — the  latter's  fondness  for  his 
''second  mate"  stronger  than  ever — wrote  to  Miss  Howes, 
begging  her  to  use  her  influence  with  the  family  to  the 
end  that  Georgie's  visit  might  be  prolonged  until  after 
Christmas,  at  any  rate. 

And  in  Emily's  reply,  the  letter  which  Kenelm  brought 
from  the  postoffice  that  morning,  the  permission  was 
granted.  Georgie  might  stay  until  New  Year's  Day. 

Then  [wrote  Emily],  he  must  come  back  with  me.  Yes, 
with  me;  for,  you  see,  I  am  going  to  keep  my  word.  I  am 
coming  to  spend  my  Christmas  vacation  with  you,  just  as  I 
said  I  should  if  it  were  possible.  There!  aren't  you  glad? 
I  know  you  are,  for  you  must  be  so  lonely,  although  one  not 
knowing  you  as  well  as  I  do  would  never  guess  it  from  your 
letters.  You  always  write  that  all  is  well,  but  I  know.  By 
the  way,  are  there  any  developments  in  the  matter  of  the 
loan  from  Mr.  Cobb?  I  am  very  glad  the  renewal  of  the 
mortgage  is  to  be  all  right,  but  I  think  he  should  do  more 
than  that.  And  have  you  been  troubled  in  the  other  affair, 
that  of  your  neighbor?  You  have  not  mentioned  it — but 
have  you? 

Thankful  had  not  been  troubled  in  the  "other  affair." 
That  is  to  say,  she  had  not  been  troubled  by  E.  Holliday 
Kendrick  or  his  attorney.  No  move  had  been  made,  at 
least  so  far  as  anyone  could  learn,  in  the  project  of  forc 
ing  her  to  sell  out,  and  Heman  Daniels  declared  that 
none  would  be  made.  "It  is  one  thing  to  boast,"  said  Mr. 

273 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Daniels,  "and  another  to  make  good.  My— ahem — er — 
professional  rival  is  beginning  to  realize,  I  think,  that  he 
has  in  this  case  bitten  off  more  than  he  can — er — so  to 
speak,  chew.  That  young  man  has  succeeded  in  ruining 
himself  in  this  community  and  that  is  all  he  has  suc 
ceeded  in." 

John  said  nothing.  At  his  new  boarding-place,  Darius 
Holt's,  he  answered  no  questions  concerning  his  plans, 
and  was  silent  and  non-communicative.  He  kept  to  him 
self  and  made  no  effort  to  regain  his  lost  popularity 
or  to  excuse  his  action.  Thankful  saw  him  but  seldom 
and  even  Captain  Obed  no  longer  mentioned  John's  name 
unless  it  was  mentioned  to  him.  Then  he  discussed  the 
subject  with  a  scornful  sniff  and  the  stubborn  declaration 
that  there  was  a  mistake  somewhere  which  would  some 
day  be  explained.  But  his  confidence  was  shaken,  that 
was  plain,  and  his  optimism  assumed.  He  and  Mrs. 
Barnes  avoided  discussion  of  John  Kendrick  and  his 
affairs. 

Thankful  read  and  reread  the  letter  from  Emily 
Howes.  The  news  it  contained  was  so  good  that  she 
forgot  entirely  the  fact  that  there  was  another  envelope 
in  the  mail.  Only  when,  as  she  sprang  to  her  feet  to 
rush  out  into  the  yard  and  tell  Georgie  that  his  plea  for 
an  extension  of  his  visit  was  granted,  was  her  attention 
called  to  this  second  letter.  It  fell  from  her  lap  to  the 
floor  and  she  stooped  and  picked  it  up. 

The  first  thing  she  noticed  was  that  the  envelope  was 
in  a  remarkably  crumpled  and  dirty  condition.  It  looked 
as  if  it  had  been  carried  in  a  pocket — and  a  not  too  clean 
pocket — for  many  days.  Then  she  noticed  the  postmark 
— "Omaha."  The  address  was  the  last  item  to  claim  her 
attention  and,  as  she  stared  at  the  crumpled  and  crooked 
hand-writing,  she  gasped  and  turned  pale. 

274 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Slowly  she  sank  back  into  her  chair  and  tore  open 
the  envelope.  The  inclosure  was  a  dingy  sheet  of  cheap 
notepaper  covered  with  a  penciled  scrawl.  With  trem 
bling  ringers  she  unfolded  the  paper  and  read  what  was 
written  there.  Then  she  leaned  back  in  the  chair  and 
put  her  hand  to  her  forehead. 

She  was  sitting  thus  when  the  door  of  the  dining-room 
opened  and  a  voice  hailed :  "Ahoy  there !  Anybody  on 
deck?" 

She  turned  to  see  Captain  Obed  Bangs'  cheery  face 
peering  in  at  her. 

"Hello !"  cried  the  captain,  entering  the  room  and  toss 
ing  his  cap  on  the  table.  "You're  here,  are  you  ?  I  was 
lookin'  for  you  and  Imogene  said  she  cal'lated  you  was 
aboard  ship  somewheres,  but  she  wa'n't  sartin  where. 
I've  come  to  get  that  second  mate  of  mine.  I'm  goin'  off 
with  a  gang  to  take  up  the  last  of  my  fish  weirs  and  I 
thought  maybe  the  little  shaver  'd  like  to  go  along.  I 
need  help  in  bossin'  the  fo'mast  hands,  you  see,  and  he's 
some  consider'ble  of  a  driver,  that  second  mate  is.  Yes 
sir-ee !  You  ought  to  hear  him  order  'em  to  get  up  an 
chor.  Ho!  ho!  I — Hey?  Why — why,  what's  the 
matter?" 

Thankful's  face  was  still  pale  and  she  was  trembling. 

"Nothin',  nothin',  Cap'n  Bangs,"  she  said.  "I've  had  a 
— a  surprise,  that's  all." 

"A  surprise!  Yes,  you  look  as  if  you  had."  Then, 
noticing  the  letter  in  her  lap,  he  added.  "You  ain't  had 
bad  news,  have  you  ?" 

"No.  No,  not  exactly.  It's  good  news.  Yes,  in  a  way 
it's  good  news,  but — but  I  didn't  expect  it  and — and  it 
has  shook  me  up  a  good  deal.  .  .  .  And — and  I  don't 
know  what  to  do.  Oh,  I  don't  know  -what  I'd  ought 
to  do!" 

275 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

The  distress  in  her  tone  was  so  real  that  the  captain 
was  greatly  disturbed.  He  made  a  move  as  if  to  come 
to  her  side  and  then,  hesitating,  remained  where  he 
was. 

"I — I'd  like  to  help  you,  Thank — er — Mrs.  Barnes," 
he  faltered,  earnestly.  "I  like  to  fust-rate,  if — if  I  could. 
Ain't  there — is  there  anything  I  could  do  to  help  ?  Course 
you  understand  I  ain't  nosin'  in  on  your  affairs,  but,  if 

you  feel  like  tellin'  me,  maybe  I Look  here,  'tain't 

nothin'  to  do  with  that  cussed  Holliday  Kendrick  or  his 
meanness,  is  it?" 

Thankful  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she  said,  "it  isn't 
that.  I've  been  expectin'  that  and  I'd  have  been  ready 
for  anything  he  might  do — or  try  to  do.  But  I  wasn't 
expectin'  this.  How  could  anybody  expect  it  ?  I  thought 
he  was  dead.  I  thought  sure  he  must  be  dead.  Why, 
it's  six  year  since  he — and  now  he's  alive,  and  he  wants — 
Whatj/m/ndo?" 

Captain  Obed  took  a  step  forward. 

"Now,  Mrs.  Barnes,"  he  begged,  "I  wish  you  would — 
that  is,  you  know  if  you  feel  like  it  I — well,  here  I  am. 
Can't  I  do  somethin'f" 

Thankful  turned  and  looked  at  him.  She  was  torn- 
between  an  intense  desire  to  make  a  confidant  of  some 
one  and  her  habitual  tendency  to  keep  her  personal  affairs 
to  herself.  The  desire  overcame  the  habit. 

"Cap'n  Bangs,"  she  said,  suddenly,  "I  will  tell  you. 
I've  just  got  to  tell  somebody.  If  he  was  just  writin' 
to  say  he  was  all  right  and  alive,  I  shouldn't.  I'd  just 
be  grateful  and  glad  and  say  nothin'.  But  the  poor  thing 
is  poverty-struck  and  friendless,  or  he  says  he  is,  and  he 
wants  money.  And — and  I  haven't  got  any  money  just 
now." 

"I  have,"  promptly.  "Or,  if  I  ain't  got  enough  with 

276 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

me  I  can  get  more.  How  much  ?  Just  you  say  how  much 
you  think  he'll  need  and  I'll  have  it  for  you  inside  of  a 
couple  of  hours.  If  money's  all  you  want — why,  that's 
nothin'." 

Thankful  heard  little,  apparently,  of  this  prodigal  offer. 
She  took  up  the  letter. 

"Cap'n  Bangs,"  said  she,  "you  remember  I  told  you, 
one  time  when  we  were  talkin'  together,  that  I  had  a 
brother — Jedediah,  his  name  was — who  used  to  live  with 
me  after  my  husband  was  drowned?" 

"Yes.  I  remember.  You  said  he'd  run  off  to  go  gold- 
diggin'  in  the  Klondike  or  somewheres.  You  said  he 
was  dead." 

"I  thought  he  must  be.  I  gave  him  up  long  ago,  because 
I  was  sartin  sure  if  he  wasn't  dead  he'd  have  written  me, 
askm'  me  to  let  him  come  back.  I  knew  he'd  never  be 
able  to  get  along  all  by  himself.  But  he  isn't  dead.  He's 
alive  and  he's  written  me  now.  Here's  his  letter.  Read 
it,  please." 

The  captain  took  the  letter  and  slowly  read  it  through. 
It  was  a  rambling,  incoherent  epistle,  full  of  smudges 
where  words  had  been  scratched  out  and  rewritten,  but  a 
pitiful  appeal  nevertheless.  Jedediah  Cahoon  had  evi 
dently  had  a  hard  time  since  the  day  when,  after  declar 
ing  his  intention  never  to  return  until  "loaded  down  with 
money,"  he  had  closed  the  door  of  his  sister's  house  at 
South  Middleboro  and  gone  out  into  the  snowstorm  and 
the  world.  His  letter  contained  few  particulars.  He  had 
wandered  far,  even  as  far  as  his  professed  destination, 
the  Klondike,  but,  wherever  he  had  been,  ill  luck  was 
there  to  meet  him.  He  had  earned  a  little  money  and 
lost  it,  earned  a  little  more  and  lost  that;  had  been  in 
Nome  and  Vancouver  and  Portland  and  Seattle;  had 
driven  a  street  car  in  Tacoma. 

277 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

I  wrote  you  from  Tacoma,  Thankful  [the  letter  said], 
after  I  lost  that  job,  but  you  never  answered.  Now  I  am 
in 'Frisco  and  I  am  down  and  out.  I  ain't  got  any  good  job 
and  I  don't  know  where  I  will  get  one.  I  want  to  come 
home.  Can't  I  come?  I  am  sorry  I  cleared  out  and  left 
you  the  way  I  done,  and  if  you  will  let  me  come  back  home 
again  I  will  try  to  be  a  good  brother  to  you.  I  will,  honest. 
I  won't  complain  no  more  and  I  will  split  the  kindling  and 
everything.  Please  say  I  can  come.  Do  please. 

Then  came  the  appeal  for  money,  money  for  the  fare 
east.  It  was  to  be  sent  to  an  address  in  San  Francisco, 
in  care  of  a  person  named  Michael  Kelly. 

I  am  staying  with  this  Kelly  man  [concluded  Jedediah]. 
He  keeps  a  kind  of  hotel  like  and  I  am  doing  chores  for 
him.  If  you  send  the  money  right  off  I  will  get  it  I  guess 
before  he  fires  me.  Send  it  quick  for  the  Lord  sakes. 

Captain  Obed  finished  the  letter. 

"Whew!"  he  whistled.    "He's  in  hard  luck,  ain't  he?" 

Thankful  wrung  her  hands.  "Yes,"  she  answered, 
"and  I  must  help  him  somehow.  But  how  I'm  goin'  to  do 
it  just  now  I  don't  see.  But  I  must,  of  course.  He's 
my  brother  and  I  must." 

"Sartin  you  must.  We — er — that  is,  that  can  be  fixed 
all  right.  Humph !  He  sent  this  to  you  at  South  Middle- 
boro,  didn't  he,  and  'twas  forwarded.  Let's  see  when  he 
wrote  it.  .  .  .  Eh  ?  Why,  'twas  written  two  months 
ago !  Where  in  the  world  has  it  been  all  this  time  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  can't  think.  And  he  says  he  is  in 
San  Francisco,  and  the  postmark  on  that  envelope  is 
Omaha,  Nebraska." 

"Land  of  love,  so  'tis.  And  the  postmark  date  is  only 
four  days  back.  Why  did  he  hang  on  to  the  thing  for 

278 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

two  months  afore  he  mailed  it?  And  how  did  it  get  to 
Omaha?" 

"I  don't  know.  All  I  can  think  of  is  that  he  gave  the 
letter  to  somebody  else  to  mail  and  that  somebody  forgot 
it.  That's  all  I  can  think  of.  I  can't  really  think  of  any 
thing  after  a  shock  like  this.  Oh,  dear !  Oh,  dear !  The 
poor,  helpless,  incompetent  thing !  He's  probably  starved 
to  death  by  this  time  and  it's  all  my  fault.  I  never  should 
have  let  him  go.  What  shall  I  do  ?  Wasn't  there  enough 
without  this?" 

For  the  first  time  Thankful's  troubles  overcame  her 
courage  and  self-restraint.  She  put  her  handkerchief 
to  her  eyes. 

The  captain  was  greatly  upset.  He  jammed  his  hands 
into  his  pockets,  took  them  out  again,  reached  for  his 
own  handkerchief,  blew  his  nose  violently,  and  began 
pacing  up  and  down  the  room.  Suddenly  he  seemed  to 
have  made  up  his  mind. 

"Mrs.  Barnes,"  he  said,  "I— I " 

Thankful's  face  was  still  buried  in  her  handkerchief. 

"I — I "  continued  Captain  Obed.  "Now,  now, 

don't  do  that.  Don't  do  it !" 

Mrs.  Barnes  wiped  her  eyes. 

"I  won't,"  she  said,  stoutly.  "I  won't.  I  know  I'm 
silly  and  childish." 

"You  ain't  neither.  You're  the  pluckiest  and  best 

woman  ever  was.  You're  the  finest — er — er Oh, 

consarn  it,  Thankful,  don't  cry  any  more.  Can't  you," 
desperately,  "can't  you  see  I  can't  stand  it  to  have  you?" 

"All  right,  Cap'n  Bangs,  I  won't.  Don't  you  bother 
about  me  or  my  worries.  I  guess  likely  you've  got  enough 
of  your  own ;  most  people  have." 

"I  ain't.  I  ain't  got  enough.  Do  me  good  if  I  had 
more.  Thankful,  see  here;  what's  the  use  of  your 

279 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

fightin'  all  these  things  alone?  I've  watched  you  ever 
since  you  made  port  here  in  South  Wellmouth  and  it's 
been  nothin'  but  fight  and  worry  all  the  time.  What's  the 
use  of  it  ?  You're  too  good  a  woman  to  waste  your  life 
this  way.  Give  it  up." 

"Give  it  up?" 

"Yes,  give  it  up.  Give  up  this  wearin'  yourself  out 
keepin'  boarders  and  runnin'  this  big  house.  Why  don't 
you  stop  takin'  care  of  other  folks  and  take  care  of  your 
self  for  a  spell?" 

"But  I  can't.  I  can't  take  care  of  myself.  All  I  have 
is  invested  in  this  place  and  if  I  give  it  up  I  lose  every 
thing." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know  what  you  mean.  But  what  I  mean 
is— is " 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean — I  mean  why  don't  you  let  somebody  take 
care  of  you?  That's  what  I  mean." 

Thankful  turned  to  stare  at  him. 

"Somebody — else — take  care  of  me?"  she  repeated. 

"Yes — yes.  Don't  look  at  me  like  that.  If  you  do  I 
can't  say  it.  I'm — I'm  havin'  a — a  hard  enough  time 
sayin'  it  as  'tis.  Thankful  Barnes,  why — don't  look  at 
me,  I  tell  you !" 

But  she  still  looked  at  him,  and,  if  a  look  ever  con 
veyed  a  meaning,  hers  did  just  then. 

"I  ain't  crazy,"  declared  Captain  Obed.  "I  can  see  you 

think  I  am,  but  I  ain't.  Thankful,  I Oh,  thundera- 

tion!  What  is  the  matter  with  me?  Thankful,  let  me 
take  care  of  you,  will  you?" 

Thankful  rose  to  her  feet.  "Obed  Bangs!"  she  ex 
claimed. 

"I  mean  it.  -  I've  been  meanin'  it  more  and  more  ever 
since  I  first  met  you,  but  I  ain't  had  the  spunk  to  say  it. 

280 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Now  I'm  goin'  to  say  it  if  I  keel  over  on  the  last  word. 
Thankful,  why  don't  you  marry  me?" 

Thankful  was  speechless.  The  captain  plunged  des 
perately  on. 

"Will  you,  Thankful?"  he  begged.  "I  know  I'm  an 
old  codger,  but  I  ain't  in  my  second  childhood,  not  yet. 
I — I'd  try  mighty  hard  to  make  you  happy.  I  haven't 
got  anybody  of  my  own  in  the  world.  Neither  have 
you — except  this  brother  of  yours,  and,  judgin'  from  his 
letter  and  what  you  say,  he  won't  take  any  care ;  he'll  be 
a  care,  that's  all.  I  ain't  rich,  but  I've  got  money  enough 
to  help  you — and  him — and  me  afloat  and  comf'table. 
Thankful,  will  you  ?" 

Thankful  was  still  looking  at  him.  He  would  have 
spoken  again,  but  she  raised  her  hand  and  motioned  him 
to  silence. 

"Obed,"  she  asked,  after  a  moment,  "what  made  you 
say  this  to  me  ?" 

"What  made  me  say  it?  What  kept  me  still  so  long, 
you  ought  to  ask.  Haven't  I  come  to  think  more  and 
more  of  you  ever  since  I  knew  you?  Haven't  I  been 
more  and  more  sorry  for  you  ?  And  pitied  you  ?  I " 

She  raised  her  hand  again.  "I  see,"  she  said,  slowly. 
"I  see.  Thank  you,  Obed.  You're  so  kind  and  self- 
sacrificin'  you'd  do  anything  or  say  anything  to  help  a — 
friend,  wouldn't  you?  But  of  course  you  can't  do  this." 

"Can't?  Why  can't  I?  Self-sacrifice  be  hanged! 
Thankful,  can't  you  see " 

"Yes.  Oh  yes.  I  can  see.  .  .  .  Now  let's  talk 
about  Jedediah.  Do  you  think " 

"Jedediah  be  keelhauled !  Will  you  marry  me,  Thank 
ful  Barnes?" 

"Why  no,  Obed;  of  course  I  won't." 

"You  won't?    Why  not?" 
281 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Because — well,  because  I — I  can't.  There,  there, 
Obed !  Please  don't  ask  me  again.  Please  don't !" 

Captain  Obed  did  not  ask.  He  did  not  speak  again 
for  what,  to  Mrs.  Barnes,  seemed  a  long,  long  time. 
At  length  she  could  bear  it  no  longer. 

"Please,  Obed,"  she  begged. 

The  captain  slowly  shook  his  head.  Then  he  laughed 
a  short,  mirthless  laugh. 

"What  an  old  fool  I  am!"  he  muttered.  "What  an 
old  fool!" 

"Obed,  don't  talk  so !  Don't !  Do  you  want  to  make 
this — everything — harder  for  me?" 

He  straightened  and  squared  his  shoulders. 

"Thank  you,  Thankful,"  he  said,  earnestly.  "Thank 
you  for  sayin'  that.  That's  the  way  to  talk  to  me.  I  know 
I'm  an  old  fool,  but  I  won't  be  any  more,  if  I  can  help  it. 
Make  it  harder  for  you  ?  I  guess  not !" 

"Obed,  I'm  so  sorry." 

"Sho!  sho!  You  needn't  be.  ...  I'm  all  right. 
I've  been  dreamin'  foolish  dreams,  like  a  young  feller 
after  a  church  picnic  dinner,  but  I'm  awake  now.  Yes'm, 
I'm  awake.  Now  just  you  forget  that  I  talked  in  my 
sleep.  Forget  the  whole  of  it  and  let's  get  back  to — to 
that  brother  of  yours.  We've  got  to  locate  him,  that's 
the  first  thing  to  be  done.  I'll  send  a  telegram  right 
off  to  that  Kelly  man  out  in  'Frisco  askin'  if  what's-his- 
name — Jedediah — is  there  yet." 

"Obed,  you  won't — you  won't  feel  hard  towards  me? 
You  won't  let — this — interfere  with  our  friendship?" 

"Sho!  Hush,  hush,  Thankful!  You  make  me  more 
ashamed  of  myself  than  ever,  and  that  ain't  necessary. 
Now  the  first  thing  is  to  send  that  telegram.  If  we 
locate  your  brother  then  we'll  send  him  a  ticket  to  Boston 
and  some  money.  Don't  you  worry,  Thankful ;  we'll  get 

282 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

him  here.  And  don't  you  fret  about  the  money  neither. 
I'll  'tend  to  that  and  you  can  pay  me  afterwards." 

"No,  no;  of  course  I  shan't  let " 

"Yes,  you  will.  There's  some  things  you  can't  stop 
and  that's  one  of  'em.  You  talked  about  our  friendship, 
didn't  you  ?  Well,  unless  you  want  me  to  believe  I  ain't 
your  friend,  you'll  let  me  run  my  own  course  this  time. 
So  long,  Thankful ;  I'm  off  to  Chris  Badger's  to  send  that 
telegram." 

He  snatched  up  his  cap  and  was  on  his  way  to  the 
door.  She  followed  him. 

"Obed,"  she  faltered,  "I— I What  can  I  say  to 

you  ?  You  are  so  good !" 

"Tut !  tut !  Me  good  ?  Don't  let  Heman  Daniels  hear 
you  say  that.  He's  a  church  deacon  and  knows  what 
goodness  is.  So  long,  Thankful.  Soon's  I  hear  from 
Kelly,  I'll  report." 

He  hurried  from  the  house.  Thankful  watched  him 
striding  down  the  path.  Not  once  did  he  hesitate  or  look 
back.  She  turned  from  the  door  and,  returning  to  her 
chair  by  the  center  table,  sat  down.  For  a  moment  she 
sat  there  and  then,  leaning  her  head  upon  her  arms 
on  the  table,  wept  tears  of  absolute  loneliness  and 
despair. 

The  telegram  to  Michael  Kelly  of  San  Francisco 
brought  an  answer,  but  a  most  unsatisfactory  one.  Jede- 
diah  Cahoon  had  not  been  in  the  Kelly  employ  for  more 
than  six  weeks.  Kelly  did  not  know  where  he  had  gone 
and,  apparently,  did  not  care.  Captain  Obed  then  wired 
and  wrote  the  San  Francisco  police  officials,  urging  them 
to  trace  the  lost  one.  This  they  promised  to  do,  but 
nothing  came  of  it.  The  weeks  passed  and  no  word  from 
them  or  from  Jedediah  himself  was  received.  His  letter 
had  come  to  prove  that,  at  the  time  it  was  written,  he 

283 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

was  alive ;  whether  or  not  he  was  still  alive,  or  where  he 
might  be  if  living,  was  as  great  a  mystery  as  ever.  Day 
after  day  Thankful  watched  and  waited  and  hoped,  but 
her  waiting  was  unrewarded,  and,  though  she  still  hoped, 
her  hope  grew  steadily  fainter ;  and  the  self-reproach  and 
the  worry  greater  in  proportion. 

She  and  Georgie  and  Imogene  spent  Thanksgiving  Day 
alone.  Heman  Daniels  and  Mr.  Hammond  were  invited 
out  and  Captain  Obed,  who  had  meant  to  eat  his  Thanks 
giving  dinner  at  the  High  Cliff  House,  was  called  to 
Boston  on  business  connected  with  his  fish  selling,  and 
could  not  return  in  time. 

Early  in  December  Thankful  once  more  drove  to  Tru- 
met  to  call  upon  Solomon  Cobb.  The  question  of  the 
renewal  of  the  mortgage  she  felt  must  remain  a  question 
no  longer.  But  she  obtained  little  satisfaction  from  her 
talk  with  the  money-lender.  Mr.  Cobb's  first  remark  con 
cerned  the  Holliday  Kendrick  offer  to  buy  the  "Cap'n 
Abner  place." 

"Did  he  mean  it,  do  you  think  ?"  he  demanded.  "Is  he 
really  so  sot  on  buyin'  as  folks  say  he  is?" 

"I'm  afraid  so." 

"Huh !  And  he's  hired  his  lawyer — that  young  cousin 
of  his — Bailey  Kendrick's  son — to  make  you  sell  out  to 
him?" 

"Yes." 

"What's  the  young  feller  done  about  it;  anything?" 

"No ;  nothin'  that  I  know  of." 

"Humph !  Sure  of  that,  be  ye  ?  I  hear  he's  been 
spendin'  consider'ble  time  over  to  Ostable  lately,  hangin' 
round  the  courthouse,  and  the  probate  clerk's  office. 
Know  what  he's  doin'  that  for?" 

"No,  I  didn't  know  he  had.     How  did  you  know  it?" 

"I  knew.  Ain't  much  goin'  on  that  I  don't  know;  I 
284 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

make  it  my  business  to  know.  Why  don't  you  sell  out 
to  old  Holliday?" 

"I  don't  want  to  sell.  My  boardin'-house  has  just  got 
a  good  start  and  why  should  I  give  it  up  ?  I  won't  sell." 

"Oh,  you  won't !  Pretty  independent  for  anybody  with 
a  mortgage  hangin'  over  'em,  ain't  ye?" 

"Solomon,  are  you  goin'  to  renew  that  mortgage  when 
it  comes  due  ?" 

Mr.  Cobb  pulled  his  whiskers.  "I  don't  know's  I  am 
and  I  don't  know's  I  ain't,"  he  said.  "This  Kendrick 
business  kind  of  mixes  things  up.  Might  be  a  good  idea 
for  me  to  foreclose  that  mortgage  and  sell  the  place  to 
him  at  my  own  price.  Eh  ?  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?" 

"You  wouldn't  do  it !    You  couldn't  be  so ' 

"So  what?  Business  is  business  and  if  he's  goin'  to 
put  you  out  anyhow,  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  get  my 
share  of  the  pickin's." 

"But  he  ain't  goin'  to  put  me  out." 

"He  says  he  is.  Now — now — clear  out  and  don't  bother 
me.  When  that  mortgage  falls  due  I'll  let  you  know 
what  I  intend  doin'  with  it.  If  you  pester  me  now  I 
won't  renew  anyhow.  Go  along  home  and  quit  your 
frettin'.  Long's  you're  there,  you  be  there.  What  more 
do  you  want?" 

There  was  a  good  deal  more  of  this  sort  of  thing, 
but  it  was  all  quite  as  unsatisfactory.  Thankful  gave  it 
up  at  last. 

"I  shan't  come  here  again,"  she  declared  desperately. 
"If  you  want  to  see  me  you  can  come  to  my  place." 

"Humph!" 

"Well,  you  will,  or  not  see  me.  Why  haven't  you  been 
there?  Time  and  time  again  you  have  promised  to  come, 
but  you  never  have.  I  shall  begin  to  believe  there  is 
some  reason  why  you  don't  want  to  go  into  that  house." 

285 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

She  was  on  her  way  to  the  door,  but  Solomon  called 
after  her. 

"Here !"  he  shouted.  "Hold  on !  What  do  you  mean 
by  that?  Why  shouldn't  I  go  into  that  house  if  I  want 
to?  Why  shouldn't  I?" 

"I  don't  know;  all  I  know  is  that  you  don't  seem  to 
want  to.  /  can't  say  why  you  don't  want  to,  but " 

"But  what?" 

"But,  maybe,  if  someone  that's  dead  and  gone  was  here 
— he  could." 

"He— he— who?    What?    Hi!    Where  you  goin'?" 

"I'm  goin'  home." 

"No,  you  ain't — not  until  you  tell  me  what  you  mean 
by — by  somebody  that's  dead  and  gone.  What  kind  of 
talk  is  that?  What  do  you  mean?" 

"Maybe  I  don't  know  what  I  mean,  Solomon;  but  I 
think  you  do.  If  you  don't  then  your  looks  belie  you, 
that's  all." 

She  went  out  of  the  "henhouse."  As  she  drove  away 
she  saw  Mr.  Cobb  peering  at  her  through  the  window. 
He  was  "weeding"  with  both  hands  and  he  looked  agi 
tated  and — yes,  frightened.  Thankful  was  more  than 
ever  certain  that  his  mysterious  behavior  was  in  some 
way  connected  with  his  past  dealings  with  her  Uncle 
Abner,  but,  not  knowing  what  those  dealings  might  have 
been,  the  certainty  was  not  likely  to  help  her.  And  he 
had  not  said  that  he  would  renew  the  mortgage. 

Georgie  was  the  first  to  meet  her  when  she  drove  into 
the  yard.  He  had  been  spending  the  day  with  Captain 
Obed  and  had  coaxed  the  latter  into  telling  him  stories  of 
Santa  Claus.  Georgie's  mind  was  now  filled  with  antici 
pations  of  Christmas  and  Christmas  presents,  and  his 
faith  in  Santa,  which  had  been  somewhat  shaken  during 
his  year  at  kindergarten  in  South  Middleboro,  was  reviv- 

286 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

ing  again.  The  captain  and  Imogene  and  Mrs.  Barnes 
all  helped  in  the  revival.  "Christmas  loses  three-quarters 
of  its  fun  when  old  Santa's  took  out  of  it,"  declared 
Captain  Obed.  "I  know,  'count  of  havin'  been  a  young 
one  myself  a  thousand  year  ago  or  such  matter.  This'll 
probably  be  the  second  mate's  last  Santa  Claus  Christ 
mas,  so  let's  keep  this  one  the  real  thing  for  the  boy." 

So  he  and  Imogene  and  Thankful — yes,  even  Kenelm — 
discussed  Santa  for  Georgie's  benefit  and  Georgie  be 
lieved,  although  his  belief  was  not  as  absolute  and  un 
questioning  as  it  had  once  been.  He  asked  a  great  many 
questions,  some  of  which  his  elders  found  hard  to  answer. 
His  dearest  wish  was  for  an  air-gun,  but  somehow  Mrs. 
Barnes  did  not  seem  to  think  the  wish  would  be  grati 
fied.  She  had  a  strong  presentiment  that  the  combination 
of  Georgie  and  an  air-gun  and  the  chickens  might  not  be 
a  desirable  one,  especially  for  the  chickens. 

"But  why  won't  he  bring  it,  Auntie?"  demanded 
Georgie.  "You  say  he  brings  good  boys  what  they  want. 
I've  been  a  good  boy,  ain't  I?" 

"  'Deed  you  have.     I  wouldn't  ask  for  a  better  one." 

"Then  why  won't  Santa  bring  me  the  gun?" 

"Perhaps  he'll  think  a  gun  isn't  nice  for  such  a  little 
boy  to  have." 

"But  it  is  nice.  It's  nicer'n  anything.  If  I'm  good 
and  I  want  it  I  don't  see  why  I  can't  have  it.  I  think 
Santa's  mean  if  he  don't  bring  it." 

"Oh  no,  he  isn't  mean.  Just  think  how  good  he  is ! 
He  conies  to  every  boy  and  girl " 

"No,  he  don't." 

"Why  yes,  he  does.    To  every  good  little  boy  and  girl." 

"He  never  came  to  Patsy  Leary  that  lived  up  on  the 
lots  in  Middleboro.  Patsy  said  he  didn't;  he  said  there 
wasn't  any  Santa  Claus,  Patsy  did." 

287 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Hum !    Perhaps  Patsy  wasn't  good." 

"Gee!  Yes,  he  was.  He  can  play  baseball  better'n 
any  boy  I  know.  And  he  can  lick  any  kid  his  size;  he 
told  me  he  could." 

This  crushing  proof  of  young  Leary's  goodness  was 
a  staggerer  for  Thankful.  Before  she  could  think  of  a 
reply  Georgie  asked  another  question. 

"You  say  he'll  come  down  the  chimney?"  he  queried. 

"Yes." 

"The  livin'-room  chimney?" 

"Yes,  probably." 

"No,  he  won't." 

"Georgie !" 

"How  can  he?  He's  so  fat;  he's  ever  so  fat  in  the 
pictures.  How  can  he  get  through  the  stovepipe  ?" 

Mrs.  Barnes'  answer  was  evasive  and  Georgie  noticed 
the  evasion.  However,  his  trust  in  his  Aunt  Thankful 
was  absolute  and  if  she  said  a  fat  man  could  get  through 
a  stovepipe  he  probably  could.  But  the  performance 
promised  to  be  an  interesting  one.  Georgie  wished  he 
might  see  it.  He  thought  a  great  deal  about  it  and,  little 
by  little,  a  plan  began  forming  in  his  mind. 

Three  days  before  Christmas  Emily  Howes  arrived  at 
the  High  Cliff  House.  She  was  received  with  rejoicings. 
The  young  lady  looked  thinner  than  when  she  went  away 
and  seemed  more  grave  and  careworn.  But  when  Thank 
ful  commented  upon  her  appearance  Emily  only  laughed 
and  declared  herself  quite  well  and  perfectly  happy.  She 
and  her  cousin  discussed  all  topics  of  common  interest 
except  one,  that  one  was  John  Kendrick.  Once  or  twice 
Thankful  mentioned  the  young  man's  name,  but  in 
variably  Emily  changed  the  subject.  It  was  evident  that 
she  did  not  wish  to  speak  of  John ;  also  it  was,  to  Mrs. 
Barnes,  just  as  evident  that  she  thought  of  him.  Thank- 

288 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

ful  believed  that  those  thoughts  were  responsible  for 
the  change  in  her  relative's  look  and  manner. 

Christmas  was  to  be,  as  Thanksgiving  had  been,  a  day 
free  from  boarders  at  the  High  Cliff  House.  Caleb  was 
again  "asked  out,"  and  Mr.  Daniels,  so  he  said,  "called 
away."  He  had  spent  little  time  in  East  Wellmouth  of 
late,  though  no  one  seemed  to  know  exactly  where  he 
had  been  or  why. 

The  day  before  Christmas  was  cold  and  threatening. 
Late  in  the  afternoon  it  began  to  rain  and  the  wind  to 
blow.  By  supper  time  a  fairly  able  storm  had  developed 
and  promised  to  develop  still  more.  Captain  Obed,  his 
arms  filled  with  packages,  all  carefully  wrapped  and  all 
mysterious  and  not  to  be  opened  till  the  next  day,  came 
in  just  after  supper. 

"Where's  that  second  mate  of  mine?"  whispered  the 
captain,  anxiously.  When  told  that  Georgie  was  in  the 
kitchen  with  Imogene  he  sighed  in  relief. 

"Good !"  he  said.  "Hide  those  things  as  quick  as  ever 
you  can,  afore  he  lays  eyes  on  'em.  He's  sharper'n  a 
sail  needle,  that  young  one  is,  and  if  he  can't  see  through 
brown  paper  he  can  guess  through  it,  I  bet  you.  Take 
'em  away  and  put  'em  out  of  sight — quick." 

Emily  hurried  upstairs  with  the  packages.  Captain 
Obed  turned  to  Thankful. 

"How  is  she  these  days  ?"  he  asked,  with  a  jerk  of  the 
head  in  the  direction  taken  by  Miss  Howes. 

"She's  pretty  well,  or  she  says  she  is.  I  ain't  so  sure 
myself.  I'm  afraid  she  thinks  about — about  him  more 
than  she  makes  believe.  I'm  afraid  matters  between 
them  two  had  gone  farther'n  we  guessed." 

Captain  Obed  nodded.  "Shouldn't  wonder,"  he  said. 
"John  looks  pretty  peaked,  too.  I  saw  him  just  now." 

"You  did?  John  Kendrick?  He's  been  out  of  town 
289 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

for  a  week  or  two,  so  I  heard.    Where  did  you  see  him?" 

"At  the  Centre  depot.  I  was  up  to  the  Centre — er — 
buyin'  a  few  things  and  he  got  off  the  noon  train." 

"Did  you  speak  to  him?" 

"Yes,  or  he  spoke  to  me.  He  and  I  ain't  said  much 
to  each  other — what  little  we've  seen  of  each  other  lately 
— but  that's  been  his  fault  more'n  'twas  mine.  He  sung 
out  to  me  this  time,  though,  and  I  went  over  to  the 
platform.  Say,"  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  "there's 
another  thing  I  want  to  ask  you.  How's  Heman  Daniels 
actin'  since  Emily  come?  Seems  more'n  extry  happy, 
does  he?" 

"Why — why,  no.  He's  been  away,  too,  a  good  deal ;  on 
business,  he  said." 

"Humph!  He  and — er — Emily  haven't  been  extra 
thick,  then?" 

"No.  Come  to  think  of  it  they've  hardly  seen  each 
other.  Emily  has  acted  sort  of — sort  of  queer  about  him, 
too.  She  didn't  seem  to  want  to  talk  about  him  more'n 
she  has  about  John." 

"Humph!  That's  funny.  I  can't  make  it  out.  You 
see  Heman  got  on  that  same  train  John  got  off.  He  was 
comin'  along  the  depot  platform  just  as  I  got  to  it.  And 
the  depot-master  sung  out  to  him." 

"The  depot-master?    Eben  Foster,  you  mean?" 

"Yup.  He  sung  out,  'Congratulations,  Heman,'  says 
he." 

"  'What  you  congratulatin'  him  for  ?'  says  I. 

"  'Ain't  you  heard  ?'  says  he.  'He's  engaged  to  be 
married'." 

Thankful  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"Engaged!"  she  repeated.  "Mr.  Daniels  engaged — to 
be  married?" 

"So  Eben  said.  I  wanted  to  ask  a  million  questions, 
290 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

of  course,  but  John  Kendrick  was  right  alongside  me  and 
I  couldn't.  John  must  have  heard  it,  too,  and  it  did 
seem  to  me  that  he  looked  pretty  well  shook  up,  but  he 

wa'n't  any  more  shook  than  I  was.  I  thought Well, 

you  see,  I  thought " 

Thankful  knew  what  he  had  thought.  She  also  was 
"shaken  up." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  she  cried.  "If— if— it  can't  be  her. 
Why,  she  would  have  told  me,  I'm  sure.  Obed,  you  don't 
think " 

"I  don't  know  what  to  think.  Heman's  been  writin' 
her  pretty  reg'lar,  I  know  that,  'cause  Chris  Badger  told 
me  so  a  week  after  she'd  gone.  I  don't  know,  Thankful ; 
one  thing's  sartin,  Heman's  kept  his  engagement  mighty 
quiet.  How  Eben  learned  of  it  I  don't  know,  but  nobody 
in  East  Wellmouth  knows,  for  I've  been  soundin'  ever 
since  I  struck  here." 

Thankful  was  greatly  troubled.  "I  hope  it  ain't  true," 
she  cried.  "I  suppose  he's  all  right,  but — but  I  didn't 
want  Emily  to  marry  him." 

"Neither  did  I.  Perhaps  she  ain't  goin'  to.  Perhaps 
it's  just  a  round-the-stove  lie,  like  a  shipload  of  others 
that's  set  afloat  every  day.  But,  from  somethin'  John 
Kendrick  said  to  me  on  that  platform  I  knew  he  heard 
what  Eben  said." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"  'Cause  he  as  much  as  told  me  so.    'Is  it  true  ?'  says  he. 

"  'I  don't  know/  says  I.    'First  I'd  heard  of  it,  if  'tis.' 

"He  just  nodded  his  head  and  seemed  to  be  thinkin'. 
When  he  did  speak  'twas  more  to  himself  than  to  me. 
'Well,'  says  he,  'then  that  settles  it.  I  can  do  it  now  with 
a  clear  conscience.' 

'"Do  what?' I  asked  him. 

"  'Oh,  nothin','  he  says.  'Cap'n  Obed,  are  you  goin' 
291 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

to  be  busy  all  day  tomorrow  ?    I  know  it's  Christmas,  of 
course;  but  are  you?' 

'  'Not  so  busy  it'll  wreck  my  nerves  keepin'  up  with 
my  dates/  says  I.  'Why?' 

"  'Can  you  spare  a  half-hour  or  so  to  come  'round 
to  my  office  at — well,  say  two  tomorrow  afternoon? 
I've  got  a  little  business  of  my  own  and  I'd  like  to  have 
you  there.  Will  you  come  ?' 

"  'Sartin/  I  told  him. 

"  'Of  course,  if  you're  afraid  of  the  moral  leprosy ' 

"'I  ain't' 

"  'Then  I'll  look  for  you,'  says  he,  and  off  he  went. 
I  ain't  seen  him  since.  He  come  down  along  of  Winnie 
S.  and  I  had  one  of  Chris  Badger's  teams.  Now  what 
do  you  cal'late  it  all  means?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  don't  know.  But  I  can't  think 
Emily Hush !  she's  comin'." 

Emily  entered  the  room  and  Captain  Obed  began  philo 
sophically  concerning  the  storm,  which  he  declared  was 
"liable  to  be  a  hooter." 

He  went  away  soon  after.  At  the  door,  when  he  and 
Mrs.  Barnes  were  alone,  he  whispered,  "Ain't  changed 
your  mind,  have  you,  Thankful?  About — about  what  I 
said  to  you  that  day?" 

"Obed,  please !    You  said  you  wouldn't." 

"All  right,  all  right.  Well,  good  night.  I'll  be  around 
tomorrow  to  wish  you  and  Emily  and  the  second  mate  a 
merry  Christmas.  Good  night,  Thankful." 

After  he  had  gone  Thankful  and  Emily  assisted 
Georgie  in  hanging  up  his  stocking  and  preparing  for  bed. 
The  boy  seemed  willing  to  retire,  a  most  unusual  willing 
ness  for  him.  His  only  worry  appeared  to  be  concerning 
Santa  Claus,  whom  he  feared  might  be  delayed  in  his 
rounds  by  the  storm. 

292 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"He'll  be  soaked,  soppin'  wet,  won't  he?"  he  asked 
anxiously. 

"Oh,  he  won't  mind.  Santa  Claus  don't  mind  this  kind 
of  weather.  He  lives  up  at  the  North  Pole,  so  folks 
say." 

"Yes.  Won't  the  chimney  soot  all  stick  to  him  when 
he's  wet?  He'll  be  a  sight,  won't  he?" 

"Perhaps  so,  but  he  won't  mind  that,  either.  Now, 
you  go  to  bed,  Georgie,  like  a  good  boy." 

"I'm  a-goin'.  Say,  Aunt  Thankful,  will  the  soot  come 
all  off  on  my  presents?" 

They  got  him  into  bed  at  last  and  descended  to  the 
living-room.  The  storm  was  worse  than  ever.  The  wind 
howled  and  the  rain  beat.  Emily  shivered. 

"Mercy!  What  a  night!"  she  exclaimed.  "It  reminds 
me  of  our  first  night  in  this  house,  Auntie." 

"Does;  that's  a   fact.     Well,  I  hope  there's   nobody 
prowlin'  around  lookin'  for  a  place  to  put  their  head  in, 
the  way  we  were  then.    I — what's  that  ?" 
"What?      What,  Auntie?     I  didn't  hear  anything." 

"I  thought  I  did.  Sounded  as  if  somebody  was — and 
they  are !  Listen !" 

Emily  listened.  From  without,  above  the  noise  of  the 
wind  and  rain  and  surf,  came  a  shout. 

"Hi!"  screamed  a  high-pitched  voice.  "Hi!  Let  me 
in.  I — I'm  drownin'." 

Thankful  rushed  to  the  door  and,  exerting  all  her 
strength,  pushed  it  open  against  the  raging  storm. 

"There's  nobody  here,"  she  faltered. 

"But — but  there  is,  Auntie.    /  heard  someone.    I " 

She  stopped,  for,  out  of  the  drenched  darkness  stag 
gered  a  figure,  the  figure  of  a  man.  He  plunged  across 
the  threshold,  tripped  over  the  mat  and  fell  in  a  heap 
upon  the  floor. 

293 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Emily  shrieked.  Mrs.  Barnes  pulled  the  door  shut  and 
ran  to  the  prostrate  figure. 

"Who  is  it?"  she  asked.    "Who  is  it?    Are  you  hurt?" 

The  figure  raised  its  head. 

"Hurt!"  it  panted.  "It's  a  wonder  I  ain't  dead. 
What's  the  matter  with  ye?  Didn't  you  hear  me  yellin' 
for  you  to  open  that  door  ?" 

Thankful  drew  a  long  breath. 

"For  mercy  sakes !"  she  cried.  "Solomon  Cobb ! 
What  are  you  doin'  over  here  a  night  like  this?" 


CHAPTER   XIV 

MR.  COBB  slowly  raised  his  head.  He  looked 
about  him  in  a  bewildered  way,  and  then  his 
gaze  fixed  itself  upon  Mrs.  Barnes. 

"What — why — you!"  he  gasped. 

"Eh?"  stammered  Thankful,  whose  surprise  and  be 
wilderment  were  almost  as  great  as  his.  "Eh?  What?" 

"You?"  repeated  Solomon.  "What — what  are  you 
doin'  here?" 

"What  am  /  doin'  here  ?    What  am  7  doin'  ?" 

"Yes."  Then,  after  another  stare  about  the  room, 
he  added :  "This  ain't  Kenelm  Parker's  house  ?  Whose 
house  is  it?" 

"It's  my  house,  of  course.  Emily,  go  and  fetch  some 
— some  water  or  somethin'.  He's  out  of  his  head." 

Emily  hurried  to  the  kitchen,  Thankful  hastened  to 
help  the  unexpected  visitor  to  his  feet.  But  the  visitor 
declined  to  be  helped. 

"Let  me  alone,"  he  roared.  "Let  me  be.  I — I  want 
to  know  whose  house  this  is?" 

"It's  my  house,  I  tell  you.  You  ought  to  know  whose 
house  it  is.  Land  sakes!  You  and  I  have  had  talk 
enough  about  it  lately.  Don't  you  know  where  you  are? 
What  are  you  sittin'  there  on  the  floor  for?  Are  you 
hurt?" 

Slowly  Mr.  Cobb  rose  to  his  feet. 
295 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  he  demanded,  "that  this 
is — is  Abner's  place  ?  How'd  I  get  here  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  ain't  hardly  had  time  to  make  sure 
you  are  here  yet.  And  I'm  sartin  you  ain't  sure.  That 
was  an  awful  tumble  you  got.  Seems  as  if  you  must 
have  hurt  yourself.  And  you're  soppin'  wet  through ! 
What  in  the  world?" 

She  moved  toward  him  again,  but  he  waved  her  away. 

"Let  me  alone !"  he  ordered.  "I  was  headin'  for  Ken- 
elm  Parker's.  How'd  I  get  here  ?" 

"I  tell  you  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  you  lost  your 
way.  No  wonder,  such  a  night's  this.  Set  down.  Let 
me  get  you  somethin'  hot  to  drink.  Come  out  in  the 
kitchen  by  the  cookstove.  Don't " 

"Hush  up !  Let  me  think.  I  never  see  such  a  woman 
to  talk.  I — I  don't  see  how  I  done  it.  I  left  Chris 
Badger's  and  came  across  the  fields  and " 

"And  you  took  the  wrong  path,  I  guess,  likely.  Did 
you  walk  from  Chris  Badger's?  Where's  your  horse 
and  team?  You  didn't  walk  from  the  Centre,  did 
you?" 

"  'Course  I  didn't.  Think  I'm  a  dum  fool  ?  My  horse 
fell  down  and  hurt  his  knee  and  I  left  him  in  Badger's 

barn.    I  cal'lated  to  go  to  Kenelm's  and  put  up  over  night. 
j » 

He  was  interrupted  by  Emily,  who  entered  with  a 
glass  in  her  hand. 

"Here's  the  water,  Auntie,"  she  said.  "Is  he  better 
now  ?" 

"Better?"  snorted  Solomon.  "What's  the  matter  with 
you?  I  ain't  sick.  What  you  got  in  that  tumbler? 
Water!  What  in  time  do  I  want  of  any  more  water? 
Don't  I  look  as  if  I'd  had  water  enough  to  last  me  one 
spell?  I'm — consarn  it  all,  I'm  a  reg'lar  sponge!  How 

296 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

far  off  is  Kenelm's  from  here?  How  long  will  it  take 
me  to  get  there  ?" 

Thankful  answered,  and  her  answer  was  decisive. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said,  "'but  I  do  know  you  ain't  goin' 
to  try  to  get  anywhere  'till  mornin'.  You  and  I  ain't  been 
any  too  lovin',  Solomon  Cobb,  but  I  shan't  take  the  re 
sponsibility  of  your  dyin'  of  pneumonia.  You'll  stay 
right  here,  and  the  first  thing  I'll  do  is  head  off  that  chill 
you've  got  this  very  minute." 

There  was  no  doubt  about  the  chill.  Solomon's  face 
and  hands  were  blue  and  he  was  shaking  from  head  to 
foot.  But  his  determination  was  unshaken.  He  strode 
to  the  door. 

"How  do  I  get  to  Parker's?"  he  demanded. 

"I  tell  you  you  mustn't  go  to  Parker's  or  anywhere 
else.  You're  riskin'  your  life." 

Mr.  Cobb  did  not  answer.  He  lifted  the  latch  and 
pulled  the  door  open.  A  howling  gust  of  wind-driven 
rain  beat  in  upon  him,  drenching  the  carpet  and  causing 
the  lamp  to  flicker  and  smoke.  For  a  moment  Solomon 
gazed  out  into  the  storm;  then  he  relinquished  his  hold 
and  staggered  back. 

"I — I  can't  do  it!"  he  groaned.  "I've  got  to  stay 
here!  I've  got  to!" 

Thankful,  exerting  all  her  strength,  closed  the  door 
and  locked  it.  "Indeed  you've  got  to,"  she  declared. 
"Now  go  out  into  the  kitchen  and  set  by  the  stove  while 
I  heat  a  kettle  and  make  you  some  ginger  tea  or  some- 
thin'." 

Solomon  hesitated. 

"He  must,  Aunt  Thankful,"  urged  Emily;  "he  really 
must." 

The  visitor  turned  to  stare  at  her. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  demanded,  ungraciously.  Then, 
297 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

as  another  chill  racked  him  from  head  to  foot,  he  added : 
"I  don't  care.  Take  me  somewheres  and  give  me  some- 
thin' — ginger  tea  or — or  kerosene  or  anything  else,  so  it's 
hot.  I — I'm — sho — oo — ook  allto — pi — ic — ces." 

They  led  him  to  the  kitchen,  where  Thankful  prepared 
the  ginger  tea.  During  its  preparation  she  managed  to 
inform  Emily  concerning  the  identity  of  their  unexpected 
lodger.  Solomon,  introduced  to  Miss  Howes,  merely 
grunted  and  admitted  that  he  had  "heard  tell"  of  her. 
His  manner  might  have  led  a  disinterested  person  to  in 
fer  that  what  he  had  heard  was  not  flattering.  He  drank 
his  tea,  and  as  he  grew  warmer  inside  and  out  his  be 
havior  became  more  natural,  which  does  not  mean  that 
it  was  either  gracious  or  grateful. 

At  length  he  asked  what  time  it  was.  Thankful  told 
him. 

"I  think  you'd  better  be  gettin'  to  bed,  Solomon,"  she 
suggested.  "I'll  hunt  up  one  of  Mr.  Caleb  Hammond's 
nightshirts,  and  while  you're  sleepin'  your  wet  clothes 
can  be  dryin'  here  by  the  cookstove." 

Solomon  grunted,  but  he  was,  apparently,  willing  to  re 
tire.  Then  came  the  question  as  to  where  he  should 
sleep.  Emily  offered  a  suggestion. 

"Why  don't  you  put  him  in  the  back  room,  Auntie,"  she 
said.  "The  one  Miss  Timpson  used  to  have.  That  isn't 
occupied  now  and  the  bed  is  ready." 

Thankful  hesitated.  "I  don't  know's  he'd  better  have 
that  room,  Emily,"  she  said, 

"Why  not?    I'm  sure  it's  a  very  nice  room/' 

"Yes,  I  know  it  is,  but " 

"But  what?" 

Mr.  Cobb  had  a  remark  to  make. 

"Well,  come  on,  come  on,"  he  said,  testily.  "Put  me 
somewheres  and  do  it  quick.  Long's  I've  got  to  sleep  in 

298 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

this  house  I  might's  well  be  doin'  it.  Where  is  this  room 
you're  talkin'  about?  Let's  see  it." 

Emily  took  the  lamp  and  led  the  way  up  the  back 
stairs.  Solomon  followed  her  and  Thankful  brought  up 
the  rear.  She  felt  a  curious  hesitancy  in  putting  even 
her  disagreeable  relative  in  that  room  on  this  night. 
Around  the  gables  and  upon  the  roof  the  storm  whined 
and  roared  as  it  had  the  night  when  she  first  explored 
that  upper  floor.  And  she  remembered,  now,  that  it 
had  stormed,  though  not  as  hard,  the  night  when 
Miss  Timpson  received  her  "warning."  If  there  were 
such  things  as  ghosts,  and  if  the  little  back  bedroom 
was  haunted,  a  night  like  this  was  the  time  for  spectral 
visitations.  She  had  half  a  mind  to  give  Mr.  Cobb  an 
other  room. 

But,  before  she  could  decide  what  to  do,  before  the 
struggle  between  her  common-sense  and  what  she  knew 
were  silly  forebodings  was  at  an  end,  the  question  was 
decided  for  her.  Solomon  had  entered  the  large  room 
and  expressed  his  approval  of  it. 

"This'll  do  first  rate,"  he  said.  "Why  didn't  you  want 
to  put  me  in  here  ?  Suppose  you  thought  'twas  too  good 
for  me,  eh?  Well,  it  might  be  for  some  folks,  but  not 
for  me.  What's  that,  a  closet  ?" 

He  was  pointing  to  the  closed  door  of  the  little  room, 
the  one  which  Miss  Timpson  had  intended  using  as  a 
study.  Thankful  had,  after  her  last  night  of  fruitless 
spook  hunting,  closed  the  door  and  locked  it. 

"What's  this  door  locked  for?"  asked  Mr.  Cobb,  who- 
had  walked  over  and  was  trying  the  knob. 

"Oh,  nothing;  it's  just  another  empty  room,  that's  all. 
There's  nothin'  in  it." 

"Humph !  Is  that  so  ?  What  do  you  lock  up  a  room 
with  nothin'  in  it  for?"  He  turned  the  key  and  flung 

299 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

the  door  open.    "Ugh !"  he  grunted,  in  evident  disappoint 
ment.     "  'Tis  empty,  ain't  it  ?     Well,  good  night." 

Emily,  whose  face  expressed  a  decided  opinion  con 
cerning  the  visitor,  walked  out  into  the  hall.  Thankful 
remained. 

"Solomon,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper,  "tell  me.  Have  you 
made  up  your  mind  about  that  mortgage?" 

"Urn  ?  No,  I  ain't.  Part  of  what  I  came  over  here  to 
day  for  was  to  find  out  a  little  more  about  this  property 
and  about  Holliday  Kendrick's  offer  for  it.  I  may  have 
a  talk  with  him  afore  I  decide  about  renewin'  that  mort 
gage.  It  looks  to  me  as  if  'twould  be  pretty  good  busi 
ness  to  dicker  with  him.  He's  got  money,  and  if  I  can 
get  some  of  it,  so  much  the  better  for  me." 

"Solomon,  you  don't  mean " 

"I  don't  know  what  I  mean  yet,  I  tell  ye.  But  I  do 
tell  you  this :  I'm  a  business  man  and  I  know  the  value 
of  money.  I  worked  hard  for  what  I  got ;  'twa'n't  left 
me  by  nobody,  like  some  folks's  I  hear  of.  Don't  ask 
me  no  more  questions.  I'll  see  old  Kendrick  tomorrow, 
maybe;  he's  expected  down." 

"He  is?  Mr.  Holliday  Kendrick?  How  do  you 
know?" 

"I  know  'cause  I  found  out,  same  as  I  usually  find 
out  things.  Chris  Badger  got  a  telegram  through  his 
office  from  Holliday  to  John  Kendrick  sayin'  he'd  come 
on  the  noon  train." 

"But  why  should  he  come  ?    And  on  Christmas  day  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  Probably  he  ain't  so  silly  about  Christ 
mas  as  the  average  run  of  idiots.  He's  a  business  man, 
too.  There!  Good  night,  good  night.  Leave  me  alone 
so's  I  can  say  my  prayers  and  turn  in.  I'm  pretty  nigh 
beat  out." 

"And  you  won't  tell  me  about  that  mortgage?'* 
300 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"No.  I'll  tell  you  when  my  mind's  made  up ;  that  ain't 
yet." 

Thankful  turned  to  go.  At  the  threshold  she  spoke 
once  more. 

"I  wonder  what  you  say  in  those  prayers  of  yours, 
Solomon,"  she  observed.  "I  should  imagine  the  Lord 
might  find  'em  interestin'." 

"I'm  glad  I  said  it,  Emily,"  she  told  her  cousin,  who 
was  awaiting  her  in  her  bedroom.  "I  presume  likely  it'll 
do  more  harm  than  good,  but  it  did  me  good  while  I  was 
sayin'  it.  The  mean,  stingy  old  hypocrite !  Now  let's  go 
downstairs  and  fill  Georgie's  stockin'." 

But  that  ceremony,  it  appeared,  must  be  deferred. 
Georgie  was  still  wide-awake.  He  called  to  Emily  to  ask 
if  the  man  who  had  come  was  Santa  Glaus. 

"The  little  rascal,"  chuckled  Thankful.  "Well,"  with 
a  sigh,  "he'll  never  make  a  worse  guess  if  he  lives  to  be 
as  old  as  Methuselah's  grandmarm.  Emily,  you  sneak 
down  and  fetch  the  stockin'  and  the  presents  up  here 
to  my  room.  We'll  do  the  fillin'  here  and  hang  up  the 
stockin'  in  the  mornin'  afore  he  gets  up." 

While  they  were  filling  the  stocking  and  tying  the  pack 
ages  containing  gifts  too  bulky  to  be  put  in  it  Miss  Howes 
cross-questioned  her  cousin.  Emily  had  been  most  un 
favorably  impressed  with  Mr.  Cobb  during  this,  her  first, 
meeting  with  him,  and  her  suspicions  concerning  Thank- 
ful's  financial  affairs,  already  aroused  by  the  lady's  reti 
cence,  were  now  active.  She  questioned  and,  after  a  time, 
Thankful  told  her,  first  a  little  and  then  all  the  truth. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you,  Emily,"  she  said,  tearfully. 
"I  didn't  mean  to  tell  a  soul,  but  I — I  just  couldn't  keep 
it  to  myself  any  longer.  If  he  doesn't  renew  that  mort 
gage — and  goodness  knows  what  he'll  do  after  he  talks 
with  Mr.  Holliday  Kendrick — I — I  don't  see  how  I  can 

301 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

help  losin'  everything.  It's  either  that  or  sell  out,  and 
I  don't  want  to  sell — Oh,  I  don't !  I  know  I  can  make  a 
go  of  this  place  of  mine  if  I  have  another  year  of  it.  I 
know  I  can." 

Emily  was  very  much  excited  and  fiercely  indignant. 

'The  beast!"  she  cried,  referring  to  the  pious  occu 
pant  of  the  back  bedroom ;  "the  mean,  wicked,  miserable 
old  miser !  To  think  of  his  being  a  relative  of  yours,  Aunt 
Thankful,  and  treating  you  so !  And  accepting  your  hos 
pitality  at  the  very  time  when  he  is  considering  taking 
your  home  away  from  you!" 

Thankful  smiled  ruefully.  "As  to  that,  Emily,"  she 
said,  "I  ain't  greatly  surprised.  Judgin'  by  what  I've 
seen  of  Sol  Cobb,  I  should  say  'twas  a  part  of  his  gos 
pel  to  accept  anything  he  can  get  for  nothin'.  But  how 
he  can  have  the  face  to  pray  while  he's  doin'  it  I  don't  see. 
What  kind  of  a  God  does  he  think  he's  prayin'  to?  I 
should  think  he'd  be  scared  to  get  down  on  his  knees 
for  fear  he'd  never  be  let  up  again.  Well,  if  there 
is  a  ghost  in  that  room  I  should  say  this  was  its 
chance." 

"A  ghost?    What  are  you  talking  about,  Auntie?" 

"Eh?  Oh,  nothin',  nothin'.  Did  I  say  'ghost'?  I 
didn't  realize  what  I  said,  I  guess." 

"Then  why  did  you  say  it?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  .  .  .  There,  there,  don't  let's  get 
any  more  foolish  than  we  can  help.  Let's  go  to  bed. 
We'll  have  to  turn  out  awful  early  in  the  mornin'  to 
get  Georgie's  stockin'  hung  up  and  his  presents  ready. 
Now  trot  off  to  bed,  Emily." 

"Aunt  Thankful,  you're  hiding  something  from  me. 
I  know  you  are." 

"Now,  Emily,  you  know  I  wouldn't " 

"Yes,  you  would.  At  least,  you  have.  All  this  time 
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THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

you  have  been  deceiving  me  about  that  mortgage.  And 
now  I  think  there  is  something  else.  What  did  you  mean 
by  a  ghost  in  that  room  ?" 

"I  didn't  mean  anything.  There  ain't  any  ghost  in  that 
room — the  one  Solomon's  in." 

"In  that  room?    Is  there  one  in  another  room?" 

"Now,  Emily " 

"Aunt  Thankful,  there  is  something  strange  in  some 
room ;  don't  deny  it.  You  aren't  accustomed  to  deceiving 
people,  and  you  can't  deceive  me  now.  Tell  me  the 
truth." 

"Well,  Emily,  it's  all  such  perfect  foolishness.  You 
don't  believe  in  ghosts,  do  you  ?" 

"Of  course  I  don't." 

"Neither  do  I.  Whatever  it  is  that  snores  and  groans 
in  that  little  back  room  ain't " 

tc Auntie!    What  do  you  mean  ?" 

Thankful  was  cornered.  Her  attempts  at  evasion  were 
useless  and,  little  by  little,  Emily  drew  from  her  the 
story  of  the  little  back  bedroom,  of  her  own  experience 
there  the  night  of  their  first  visit,  of  what  Winnie  S.  had 
said  concerning  the  haunting  of  the  "Cap'n  Abner  place," 
and  of  Miss  Timpson's  "warning."  She  told  it  in  a  low 
tone,  so  as  not  to  awaken  Georgie,  and,  as  she  spoke,  the 
wind  shrieked  and  wailed  and  groaned,  the  blinds  creaked, 
the  water  dripped  and  gurgled  in  the  gutters,  and  the 
shadows  outside  the  circle  of  light  from  the  little  hand 
lamp  were  black  and  threatening.  Emily,  as  she  listened, 
felt  the  cold  shivers  running  up  and  down  her  spine. 
It  is  one  thing  to  scoff  at  superstition  in  the  bright  sun 
light;  it  is  quite  another  to  listen  to  a  tale  like  this  on 
a  night  like  this  in  a  house  a  hundred  years  old.  Miss 
Howes  scoffed,  it  is  true,  but  the  scoffing  was  not  con 
vincing. 

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THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Nonsense  !"  she  said,  stoutly.  "A  ghost  that  snores  ? 
Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing?" 

"Nobody  ever  did,  I  guess,"  Thankful  admitted.  "It's 
all  too  silly  for  anything,  of  course.  I  know  it's  silly  ;  but, 
Emily,  there's  somethin'  queer  about  that  room.  I  told 
you  what  I  heard;  somethin'  or  somebody  said,  'Oh, 
Lord!'  as  plain  as  ever  I  heard  it  said.  And  somethin' 
or  somebody  snored  when  Miss  Timpson  was  there. 
And,  of  course,  when  they  tell  me  how  old  Mr.  Eldredge 
snored  in  that  very  room  when  he  was  dyin',  and  how 
Miss  Timpson's  sister  snored  when  she  was  sick,  it  — 


"Oh,  stop,  Auntie  !  You  will  have  me  believing  in  —  in 
things,  if  you  keep  on.  It's  nonsense  and  you  and  I  will 
prove  it  so  before  I  go  back  to  Middleboro.  Now  you 
must  go  to  bed." 

"Yes,  I'm  goin'.  Well,  if  there  is  a  ghost  in  that 
room  it'll  have  its  hands  full  with  Sol  Cobb.  He's  a 
tough  old  critter,  if  ever  there  was  one.  Good  night, 
Emily." 

"Good  night,  Aunt  Thankful.  Don't  worry  about  the  — 
ha!  ha!  —  ghost,  will  you?" 

"No,  I've  got  enough  to  worry  about  this  side  of  the 
grave.  .  .  .  Mercy!  what's  the  matter?" 

"Nothing!  I  —  I  thought  I  heard  a  noise  in  —  in  the 
hall.  I  didn't  though." 

"No,  course  you  didn't.  Shall  I  go  to  your  room  with 
you?" 

"No  indeed!  I  —  I  should  be  ashamed  to  have  you. 
Where  is  Imogene?" 

"She's  up  in  her  room.  She  went  to  bed  early.  Good 
ness  !  Hear  that  wind.  It  cries  like  —  like  somethin'  hu 
man." 

"It's  dreadful.  It  is  enough  to  make  anyone  think. 
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THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

.  .  .  There!     If  you  and  I   talk  any  longer  we  shall 
both  be  behaving  like  children.    Good  night." 

"Good  night,  Emily.    Is  Georgie  asleep  at  last?" 

"I  think  so.  I  haven't  heard  a  sound  from  him.  Call 
me  early,  Auntie." 

Thankful  lit  her  own  lamp ;  Emily  took  the  one  already 
lighted  and  hastened  down  the  hall.  Thankful  shut  the 
door  and  prepared  for  bed.  The  din  of  the  storm  was 
terrific.  The  old  house  shook  as  if  it  were  trembling 
with  fright  and  screaming  in  the  agony  of  approaching 
dissolution.  It  was  a  long  time  before  Thankful  fell 
asleep,  but  at  last  she  did. 

She  was  awakened  by  a  hand  upon  her  arm  and  a 
voice  whispering  in  her  ear. 

"Auntie!"  whispered  Emily.  "Auntie,  wake  up !  Oh, 
do  wake  up!" 

Thankful  was  broad  awake  in  a  moment.  She  sat 
up  in  bed.  The  room  was  in  black  darkness,  and  she  felt 
rather  than  saw  Miss  Howes  standing  beside  her. 

"What  is  it,  Emily  ?"  she  cried.    "What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"Hush,  hush !  Don't  speak  so  loud.  Get  up !  Get  up 
and  light  the  lamp." 

Thankful  sprang  out  of  bed  and  hunted  for  the  match 
box.  She  found  it  after  a  time  and  the  lamp  was  lighted. 
Emily,  wearing  a  wrapper  over  her  night  clothes,  was 
standing  by  the  door,  apparently  listening.  Her  face  was 
white  and  she  was  trembling. 

"What  is  it?"  whispered  Thankful. 

"Hush !    I  don't  know  what  it  is.    Listen !" 

Thankful  listened.  All  she  heard  were  the  noises  of 
the  storm. 

"I  don't  hear  anything,"  she  said. 

"No — no,  you  can't  hear  it  from  here.  Come  out  into 
the  hall." 

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THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Cautiously  and  on  tiptoe  she  led  the  way  to  the  hall 
and  toward  the  head  of  the  front  stairs.  There  she 
seized  her  cousin's  arm  and  whispered  in  her  ear. 

"Listen !"  she  breathed. 

Thankful  listened. 

"Why — why,"  she  whispered,  "there's  somebody  down 
in  the  livin'-room !  Who  is  it  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  There  are  more  than  one,  for  I  heard 
them  talking.  Who  can  it  be  ?" 

Thankful  listened  again. 

"Where's  Georgie?"  she  whispered,  after  a  moment. 

"In  his  room,  I  suppose.  .  .  .  What?  You  don't 
think " 

Thankful  had  tiptoed  back  to  her  own  room  and  was 
returning  with  the  lamp.  Together  they  entered  Georgie's 
bed  chamber.  But  bed  and  room  were  empty.  Georgie 
was  not  there. 


CHAPTER   XV 

GEORGIE  had  gone  to  bed  that  Christmas  Eve 
with  a  well-defined  plan  in  his  small  head.  He 
knew  what  he  intended  doing  and  how  he  meant 
to  do  it.  The  execution  of  this  plan  depended,  first  of 
all,  upon  his  not  falling  asleep,  and,  as  he  was  much 
too  excited  to  be  in  the  least  sleepy,  he  found  no  great 
difficulty  in  carrying  out  this  part  of  his  scheme. 

He  had  heard  the  conversation  accompanying  Mr. 
Cobb's  unexpected  entrance  and  had  waited  anxiously  to 
ask  concerning  the  visitor's  identity.  When  assured  by 
his  sister  that  Santa  had  not  arrived  ahead  of  time  he 
settled  down  again  to  wait,  as  patiently  as  he  could,  for 
the  "grown-ups"  to  retire. 

So  he  waited  and  waited.  The  clock  struck  ten  and 
then  eleven.  Georgie  rose,  tiptoed  to  his  door  and  lis 
tened.  There  were  no  sounds  except  those  of  the  storm. 
Then,  still  on  tiptoe,  the  boy  crept  along  the  hall  to  the 
front  stairs,  down  these  stairs  and  into  the  living-room. 
The  fire  in  the  "airtight"  stove  showed  red  behind  the 
isinglass  panes,  and  the  room  was  warm  and  comfortable. 

Georgie  did  not  hesitate ;  his  plan  was  complete  to  the 
minutest  details.  By  the  light  from  the  stove  he  found 
his  way  to  the  sofa  which  stood  against  the  wall  on 
the  side  of  the  room  opposite  the  windows.  There  was 
a  heavy  fringe  on  the  sofa  which  hung  almost  to  the 
floor.  The  youngster  lay  flat  upon  the  floor  and  crept 

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THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

under  the  fringe  and  beneath  the  sofa.  There  he  lay 
still.  Aunt  Thankful  and  Captain  Obed  and  Imogene 
had  said  there  was  a  Santa  Claus;  the  boy  in  South 
Middleboro  had  said  there  was  none;  Georgie  meant  to 
settle  the  question  for  himself  this  very  night.  This 
was  his  plan :  to  hide  In  that  living-room  and  wait  until 
Santa  came — if  he  came  at  all. 

It  was  lonely  and  dark  and  stuffy  under  the  sofa  and 
the  beat  of  the  rain  and  the  howling  gale  outside  were 
scary  sounds  for  a  youngster  no  older  than  he.  But 
Georgie  was  plucky  and  determined  beyond  his  years. 
He  was  tempted  to  give  up  and  scamper  upstairs  again, 
but  he  fought  down  the  temptation.  If  no  Santa  Claus 
came  then  he  should  know  the  Leary  boy  was  right.  If 
he  did  come  then — well  then,  his  only  care  must  be  not 
to  be  caught  watching. 

Twelve  o'clock  struck;  Georgie's  eyes  were  closing. 
He  blinked  owl-like  under  the  fringe  at  the  red  glow 
behind  the  isinglass.  His  head,  pillowed  upon  his  out 
stretched  arms,  felt  heavy  and  drowsy.  He  must  keep 
awake,  he  must.  So,  in  order  to  achieve  this  result,  he 
began  to  count  the  ticks  of  the  big  clock  in  the  corner. 
One — two — three — and  so  on  up  to  twenty-two.  He  lost 
count  then;  his  eyes  closed,  opened,  and  closed  again. 
His  thoughts  drifted  away  from  the  clock,  drifted  to — 
to  ... 

His  eyes  opened  again.  There  was  a  sound  in  the 
room,  a  strange,  new  sound.  No,  it  was  not  in  the 
room,  it  was  in  the  dining-room.  He  heard  it  again. 
Someone  in  that  dining-room  was  moving  cautiously. 
The  door  between  the  rooms  was  open  and  he  could 
hear  the  sound  of  careful  footsteps. 

Georgie  was  frightened,  very  much  frightened.  He 
was  seized  with  a  panic  desire  to  scream  and  rush  up- 

308 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

stairs.  He  did  not  scream,  but  he  thrust  one  bare  foot 
from  beneath  the  sofa.  Then  he  hastily  drew  it  in  again, 
for  the  person  in  the  dining-room,  whoever  he  or  she 
might  be,  was  coming  toward  the  door. 

A  moment  later  there  was  a  scratching  sound  and  the 
living-room  was  dimly  illumined  by  the  flare  of  a  match. 
The  small  and  trembling  watcher  beneath  the  sofa  shut 
his  eyes  in  fright.  When  he  opened  them  the  lamp  upon 
the  center  table  was  lighted  and  Santa  Claus  himself  was 
standing  by  the  table  peering  anxiously  about. 

It  was  Santa — Georgie  made  up  his  mind  to  that  im 
mediately.  There  was  the  pack,  the  pack  which  the 
pictured  Santa  Claus  always  carried,  to  prove  it,  although 
in  this  instance  the  pack  was  but  a  small  and  rather  dirty 
bundle.  There  were  other  points  of  difference  between 
the  real  Santa  and  the  pictures ;  for  instance,  instead  of 
being  clothed  entirely  in  furs,  this  one's  apparel  seemed 
to  be,  for  the  most  part,  rags,  and  soaked  and  dripping 
rags  at  that.  But  he  did  wear  a  fur  cap,  a  mangy  one 
which  looked  like  a  drowned  cat,  and  his  beard,  though 
ragged  like  his  garments,  was  all  that  might  be  desired. 
Yes,  it  was  Santa  Claus  who  had  come,  just  as  they 
said  he  would,  although — and  Georgie's  doubts  were  so 
far  justified — he  had  not  come  down  the  living-room 
chimney. 

Santa  was  cold,  it  seemed,  for  his  first  move  was  to 
go  to  the  stove  and  stand  by  it,  shivering  and  warming 
his  hands.  During  this  operation  he  kept  looking  fear 
fully  about  him  and,  apparently,  listening.  Then,  to 
Georgie's  chagrin  and  disappointment,  he  took  up  the 
lamp  and  tiptoed  into  the  dining-room  again.  However, 
he  had  not  gone  for  good,  for  his  pack  was  still  upon 
the  floor  where  he  had  dropped  it.  And  a  few  minutes 
later  he  reappeared,  his  pockets  bulging  and  in  his  free 

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THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

hand  the  remains  of  half  a  ham,  which  Georgie  himself 
had  seen  Aunt  Thankful  put  away  in  the  pantry. 

He  replaced  the  lamp  on  the  table  and  from  his  pock 
ets  extracted  the  end  of  a  loaf  of  bread,  several  dough 
nuts  and  a  half-dozen  molasses  cookies.  Then  he  seated 
himself  in  a  chair  by  the  stove  and  proceeded  to  eat, 
hungrily,  voraciously,  first  the  ham  and  bread  and  then 
the  doughnuts  and  cookies.  And  as  he  ate  he  looked  and 
listened,  occasionally  starting  as  if  in  alarm. 

At  last,  when  he  had  eaten  everything  but  the  ham 
bone,  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  turned  his  attention  to  the 
pack  upon  the  floor.  This  was  what  Georgie  had  been 
waiting  for,  and  as  Santa  fumbled  with  the  pack,  his 
back  to  the  sofa,  the  boy  parted  the  fringe  and  peered 
at  him  with  eager  expectation. 

The  pack,  according  to  every  story  Georgie  had  been 
told,  should  have  been  bulging  with  presents ;  but  if  the 
latter  were  there  they  were  under  more  old  clothes,  even 
worse  than  those  the  Christmas  saint  was  wearing.  Santa 
Claus  hurriedly  pawed  over  the  upper  layer  and  then 
took  out  a  little  package  wrapped  in  tissue  paper.  Un 
tying  the  string,  he  exposed  a  small  pasteboard  box 
and  from  this  box  he  lifted  some  cotton  and  then — a 
ring. 

It  was  a  magnificent  ring,  so  Georgie  thought.  It  had 
a  big  green  stone  in  the  center  and  the  rest  was  gold,  or 
what  looked  like  gold.  Santa  seemed  to  think  well  of  it, 
too,  for  he  held  it  to  the  lamplight  and  moved  it  back 
and  forth,  watching  the  shine  of  the  green  stone.  Then 
he  put  the  ring  down,  tore  a  corner  from  the  piece  of 
tissue  paper,  rummaged  the  stump  of  a  pencil  out  of  his 
rags,  and,  humping  himself  over  the  table,  seemed  to  be 
writing. 

It  took  him  a  long  time  and  was  plainly  hard  work, 
310 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

for  he  groaned  occasionally  and  kept  putting  the  point 
of  the  pencil  into  his  mouth.  Georgie's  curiosity  grew 
stronger  each  second.  Unconscious  of  what  he  was  do 
ing,  he  parted  the  fringe  still  more  and  thrust  out.  his 
head  for  a  better  view.  The  top  of  his  head  struck  the 
edge  of  the  sofa  with  a  dull  thump. 

Santa  Claus  jumped  as  if  someone  had  stuck  a  pin 
into  him  and  turned.  That  portion  of  his  face  not  cov 
ered  by  the  scraggly  beard  was  as  white  as  mud  and  dirt 
would  permit. 

"Who — who  be  you?"  he  demanded  in  a  frightened 
whisper. 

Georgie  was  white  and  frightened  also,  but  he  man 
fully  crept  out  from  beneath  the  sofa. 

"Who  be  you  ?"  repeated  Santa. 

"I — I'm  Georgie,"  stammered  the  boy. 

"Georgie!     Georgie  who?" 

"Georgie  Hobbs.    The — the  boy  that  lives  here." 

"Lives — lives  here?" 

"Yes."  It  seemed  strange  that  the  person  reputed 
to  know  all  the  children  in  the  world  did  not  recognize 
him  at  sight. 

Apparently  he  did  not,  however,  for  after  an  instant  of 
silent  and  shaky  inspection  he  said : 

"You  mean  to  say  you  live  here — in  this  house  ?  Who 
do  you  live  with  ?" 

"Mrs.  Barnes,  her  that  owns  the  house." 

Santa  gasped  audibly.  "You — you  live  with  her?"  he 
demanded.  "Good  Lord !  She — she  ain't  married  again, 
is  she?" 

"Married !     No — no,  sir,  she  ain't  married." 

"Then — then — See  here,  boy ;  what's  your  name — your 
whole  name?" 

"George  Ellis  Hobbs.     I'm  Mr.  Hobbs's  boy,  up  to 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

South  Middleboro,  you  know.  I'm  down  here  stayin' 
with  Aunt  Thankful.  She " 

"Sshh!  sshh!  Don't  talk  so  loud.  So  you're  Mr. 
Hobbs's  boy,  eh  ?  What — eh  ?  Oh,  yes,  yes.  You're  ma 
was — was  Sarah  Cahoon,  wa'n't  she  ?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I — I  hope  you  won't  be  cross  because  I  hid 
under  the  sofa.  They  said  you  were  coming,  but  I  wasn't 
sure,  and  I — I  thought  I'd  hide  and  see  if  you  did. 

Please "  the  tears  rushed  to  Georgie's  eyes  at  the 

dreadful  thought — "please  don't  be  cross  and  go  away 
without  leaving  me  anything.  I'll  never  do  so  again ; 
honest,  I  won't." 

Santa  seemed  to  have  heard  only  the  first  part  of  this 
plea  for  forgiveness.  He  put  a  hand  to  his  forehead. 

"They  said  I  was  comin' !"  he  repeated.  "They  said — 
Who  said  so?" 

"Why,  everybody.  Aunt  Thankful  and  Emily  and 
Imogene  and  Cap'n  Bangs  and  Mr.  Parker  and — all  of 
'em.  They  knew  you  was  comin'  tonight,  but  I " 

"They  knew  it !    Boy,  are  you  crazy  ?" 

Georgie  shook  his  head. 

"No,  sir."  Then,  as  Santa  Claus  sat  staring  blankly 
with  open  mouth  and  fingers  plucking  nervously  at  what 
seemed  to  be  the  only  button  on  his  coat,  he  added, 
"Please,  sir,  did  you  bring  the  air-gun?" 

"Hey?" 

"Did  you  bring  the  air-gun  I  wanted  ?  They  said  you 
probably  wouldn't,  but  I  do  want  it  like  everything.  I 
won't  shoot  the  hens,  honest  I  won't." 

Santa  Claus  picked  at  the  button. 

"Say,  boy,"  he  asked,  slowly.    "Who  am  I  ?" 

Georgie  was  surprised. 

"Why,  Santa  Claus,"  he  replied.  "You  are  Santa 
Claus,  ain't  you?" 

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THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Eh  ?  San  .  .  .  Oh,  yes,  yes !  I'm  Santa  Claus,  that's 
who  I  be."  He  seemed  relieved,  but  still  anxious.  After 
fidgeting  a  moment  he  added,  "Well,  I  cal'late  I'll  have 
to  be  goin'  now." 

Georgie  turned  pale. 

"But — but  where  are  the  presents  ?"  he  wailed.  "I — I 
thought  you  wasn't  goin'  to  be  cross  with  me.  I'm  aw 
fully  sorry  I  stayed  up  to  watch  for  you.  I  won't  ever 
do  it  again.  Please  don't  go  away  and  not  leave  me  any 
presents.  Please,  Mr.  Santa  Claus!" 

Santa  started.  "Sshh !"  he  commanded  in  an  agonized 
whisper.  "Hush  up!  Somebody'll  hear.  ...  Eh? 
What's  that?" 

The  front  stairs  creaked  ominously.  Georgie  did  not 
answer;  he  made  a  headlong  dive  for  his  hiding-place 
beneath  the  sofa.  Santa  seemed  to  be  even  more  alarmed 
than  the  youngster.  He  glanced  wildly  about  the  room 
and,  as  another  creak  came  from  the  stairs,  darted  into 
the  dining-room. 

For  a  minute  or  more  nothing  happened.  Then  the 
door  leading  to  the  front  hall,  the  door  which  had  been 
standing  ajar,  opened  cautiously  and  Mrs.  Barnes'  head 
protruded  beyond  its  edge.  She  looked  about  the  room ; 
then  she  entered.  Emily  Howes  followed.  Both  ladies 
wore  wrappers  now,  and  Thankful's  hand  clutched  an 
umbrella,  the  only  weapon  available,  which  she  had 
snatched  from  the  hall  rack  as  she  passed  it.  She  ad 
vanced  to  the  center  table. 

"Who's  here?"  she  demanded  firmly.  "Who  lit  this 
lamp?  Georgie!  Georgie  Hobbs,  we  know  you're  here 
somewhere,  for  we  heard  you.  Show  yourself  this  in 
stant." 

Silence — then  Emily  seized  her  cousin's  arm  and 
pointed.  A  small  bare  foot  protruded  from  beneath  the 

313 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

sofa  fringe.  Thankful  marched  to  the  sofa  and,  stooping, 
grasped  the  ankle  above  the  foot. 

"Georgie  Hobbs,"  she  ordered,  "come  out  from  under 
this  sofa." 

Georgie  came,  partly  of  his  own  volition,  partly  because 
of  the  persuasive  tug  at  his  ankle. 

"Now,  then,"  ordered  Thankful ;  "what  are  you  doin' 
down  here?  Answer  me." 

Georgie  did  not  answer.  He  marked  a  circle  on  the 
floor  with  his  toe. 

"What  are  you  doin'  down  here?"  repeated  Mrs. 
Barnes.  "Did  you  light  that  lamp?" 

"No'm,"  replied  Georgie. 

"Of  course  he  didn't,  Auntie,"  whispered  Emily. 
"There  was  someone  here  with  him.  I  heard  them  talk 
ing." 

"Who  did  light  it?" 

Georgie  marked  another  circle.  "Santa  Claus,"  he  mut 
tered  faintly. 

Thankful  stared,  first  at  the  boy  and  then  at  her 
cousin. 

"Mercy  on  us !"  she  exclaimed.  "The  child's  gone 
crazy.  Christmas  has  struck  to  his  head !" 

But  Emily's  fears  were  not  concerning  her  small 
brother's  sanity.  "Hush,  Auntie,"  she  whispered. 
"Hush!  He  was  talking  to  someone.  We  both  heard 
another  voice.  Who  did  you  say  it  was,  Georgie?" 

"Santa  Claus.  Oh,  Emmie,  please  don't  be  mad.  I — I 
wanted  to  see  him  so — and — and  when  he  came  I — I " 

"There,  there,  Georgie;  don't  cry,  dear.  We're  not 
cross.  You  were  talking  to  someone  you  thought  was 
Santa.  Where  is  he?" 

"He  was  Santa  Claus.  He  said  he  was.  He  went 
away  when  you  came — into  the  dinin'-room." 


"The  dining-room?  .  .  .  Auntie,  what  are  you  doing? 
Don't!" 

But  Thankful  had  seized  the  lamp  and  was  already  at 
the  threshold  of  the  dining-room.  Holding  the  light 
aloft  she  peered  into  that  apartment. 

"If  there's  anybody  here,"  she  ordered,  "they'd  better 
come  out  because.  .  .  .  Here!  I  see  you  under  that 
table.  I " 

She  stopped,  gasped,  and  staggered  back.  Emily,  run 
ning  to  her1  side,  was  just  in  time  to  prevent  the  lamp 
falling  to  the  floor. 

"Oh,  Auntie,"  cried  the  young  lady.  "Auntie,  what 
wit?" 

Thankful  did  not  answer.  Her  face  was  white  and 
she  moved  her  hands  helplessly.  And  there  in  the  door 
way  of  the  dining-room  appeared  Santa  Claus ;  and  if 
ever  Santa  Claus  looked  scared  and  apprehensive  he  did 
at  that  moment. 

Emily  stared  at  him.  Mrs.  Barnes  uttered  a  groan. 
Santa  Claus  smiled  feebly. 

"Hello,  Thankful,"  he  said.  "I— I  cal'late  you're  sur 
prised  to  see  me,  ain't  you?" 

Thankful's  lips  moved. 

"Are — are  you  livin'  or — or  dead?"  she  gasped. 

"Me — Oh,  I'm  alive,  but  that's  about  all.  Hey?  It's 
Emily,  ain't  it?  Why — why,  Emily,  don't  you  know 
me?" 

Miss  Howes  put  the  lamp  down  upon  the  table.  Then 
she  leaned  heavily  upon  a  chair  back. 

"Cousin  Jedediah !"  she  exclaimed.  "It  can't  be — it — 
Auntie " 

But  Thankful  interrupted.     She  turned  to  Georgie. 

"Is — is  this  your  Santa  Claus?"  she  faltered. 

"Yes'm,"  answered  Georgie. 

315 


THANKFUUS  INHERITANCE 

"Jedediah  Gaboon!"  cried  Thankful.  "Jedediah  Ca- 
hoon !" 

For  Georgie's  "Santa  Claus"  was  her  brother,  the 
brother  who  had  run  away  from  her  home  so  long  ago 
to  seek  his  fortune  in  the  Klondike ;  whose  letter,  written 
in  San  Francisco  and  posted  in  Omaha,  had  reached  her 
the  month  before ;  whom  the  police  of  several  cities  were 
looking  for  at  her  behest. 

"Auntie !"  cried  Emily  again. 

Thankful  shook  her  head.  "Help  me  to  a  chair,  Em 
ily,"  she  begged  weakly.  "This — this  is — my  soul  and 
body !  Jedediah  come  alive  again !" 

The  returned  gold-hunter  swallowed  several  times. 

"Thankful,"  he  faltered,  "I  know  you  must  feel  pretty 
hard  agin  me,  but — but,  you  see " 

"Hush  !  hush !  Don't  speak  to  me  for  a  minute.  Let 
me  get  my  bearin's,  for  mercy  sakes,  if  I  can.  .  .  .  Jede 
diah — here!" 

"Yes — yes,  I'm  here.     I  am,  honest.    I " 

"Sshh !  You're  here  now,  but — but  where  have  you 
been  all  this  time  ?  For  a  man  that  is,  I  presume  likely, 
loaded  down  with  money — I  presume  you  must  be  loaded 
down  with  it ;  you  remember  you'd  said  you'd  never  come 
back  until  you  was — for  that  kind  of  a  man  I  must  say 
you  look  pretty  down  at  the  heel." 

"Thankful " 

"Have  you  worn  out  your  clothes  luggin'  the  money 
around  ?" 

"Auntie,  don't.    Look  at  him.    Think !" 

"Hush,  Emily!  I  am  lookin'  at  him  and  I'm  thinkin', 
too.  I'm  thinkin'  of  how  much  I  put  up  with  afore  he 
run  off  and  left  me,  and  how  I've  worried  and  laid 
awake  nights  thinkin'  he  was  dead.  Where  have  you 
been  all  this  time  ?  Why  haven't  you  written  ?" 

316 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"I  did  write." 

"You  wrote  when  you  was  without  a  cent  and  wanted 
to  get  money  from  me.  You  didn't  write  before.  Let 
me  be,  Emily;  you  don't  know  what  I've  gone  through 
on  account  of  him  and  now  he  comes  sneakin'  into  my 
house  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  without  a  word  that  he 
was  comin',  sneakin'  in  like  a  thief  and  frightenin'  us 
half  to  death  and " 

Jedediah  interrupted.  "Sneakin'  in !"  he  repeated,  with 
a  desperate  move  of  his  hands.  "I  had  to  sneak  in.  I  was 
scairt  to  come  in  when  you  was  up  and  awake.  I  knew 
you'd  be  down  on  me  like  a  thousand  of  brick.  I — I — Oh, 
you  don't  know  what  I've  been  through,  Thankful,  or 
you'd  pity  me,  'stead  of  pitchin'  into  me  like  this.  I've 
been  a  reg'lar  tramp — that's  what  I've  been,  a  tramp. 
Freezin'  and  starvin'  and  workin'  in  bar-rooms!  Why, 
I  beat  my  way  on  a  freight  train  all  the  way  here  from 
New  Bedford,  and  I've  been  hidin'  out  back  of  the  house 
waitin'  for  you  to  go  to  bed,  so's  I'd  dare  come  in." 

"So's  you'd  dare  come  in!  What  did  you  want  to 
come  in  for  if  I  wa'n't  here?" 

"I  wanted  to  leave  a  note  for  you,  that's  why.  I 
wanted  to  leave  a  note  and — and  that." 

He  pointed  to  the  ring  and  the  bit  of  tissue  paper  on 
the  table.  Thankful  took  up  the  paper  first  and  read 
aloud  what  was  written  upon  it. 

"For  Thankful,  with  a  larst  merry  Christmas  from 
brother  Jed.  I  am  going  away  and  if  you  want  me  I  will 
be  at  New  Bedford  for  two  weeks,  care  the  bark  Finback." 

"'I  am  goin'  away',"  repeated  Thankful.  "Coin' 
away?  Are  you  goin'  away  again?" 

"I — I  was  cal'latin'  to.     I'm  goin'  cook  on  a  whaler." 

31? 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Cook!  You  a  cook!  And,"  she  took  up  the  ring 
and  stared  at  it,  "for  the  land  sakes,  what's  this?" 

"It's  a  present  I  bought  for  you.  Took  my  last  two 
dollar  bill,  it  did.  I  wanted  you  to  have  somethin'  to 
remember  me  by." 

Thankful  held  the  gaudy  ring  at  arm's  length  and 
stared  at  it  helplessly.  There  was  a  curious  expression 
on  her  face,  half-way  between  laughing  and  crying. 

"You  bought  this — this  thing  for  me,"  she  repeated. 
"And  did  you  think  I'd  wear  it." 

"I  hoped  you  would.  Oh,  Thankful,  if  you  only  knew 
what  I've  been  through.  Why,  I  was  next  door  to 
starvin'  when  I  got  in  here  tonight.  If  I  hadn't  eat 
somethin'  I  found  in  the  buttry  I  would  have  starved,  I 
guess.  And  I'm  soaked,  soppin'  through  and " 

"There,  there.  Hush  !  hush  !  Jedediah,  you're  gold- 
diggin'  ain't  changed  you  much,  I  guess.  You're  just 
as  helpless  as  ever  you  was.  Well,  you're  here  and  I'm 
grateful  for  so  much.  Now  you  come  with  me  out 
into  the  kitchen  and  we'll  see  what  can  be  done  about 
gettin'  you  dry.  Emily,  if  you'll  just  put  that  child  to 
bed." 

But  Georgie  had  something  to  say.  He  had  listened 
to  this  long  dialogue  with  astonishment  and  growing  dis- 
,may.  Now  the  dismay  and  conviction  of  a  great  disap 
pointment  overcame  him. 

"I  don't  want  to  go  to  bed,"  he  wailed.  "Ain't  he  Santa 
Claus?  He  said  he  was  Santa  Claus.  Where  are  my 
presents?  Where's  my  air-gun?  I  want  my  presents. 
Oh— Oh— Oh !" 

He  went  out  crying.    Emily  ran  to  him. 

"Hush,  hush,  Georgie,  dear,"  she  begged.  "Come  up 
stairs  with  sister — come.  If  you  don't  you  may  be  here 
when  the  real  Santa  comes  and  you  will  frighten  him 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

away.  Come  with  me ;  that's  a  good  boy.  Auntie,  I  will 
be  down  by  and  by." 

She  led  the  disappointed  and  still  sobbing  boy  from 
the  room.  Thankful  turned  to  her  brother. 

"Now  you  march  out  into  that  kitchen,"  she  com 
manded.  "I'll  get  you  warm  first  and  then  I'll  see  about 
a  bed  for  you.  You'll  have  to  sleep  up  on  the  third  floor 
tonight.  After  that  I'll  see  about  a  better  room  to  put 
you  in." 

Jedediah  stared  at  her. 

"What — what,"  he  faltered.  "Do  you  mean — Thank 
ful,  do  you  mean  you're  goin'  to  let  me  stay  here  for — 
for  good  ?" 

"Yes,  of  course  I  do.  You  don't  think  I'll  let  you  get 
out  of  my  sight  again,  do  you?  That  is,  unless  you're 
real  set  on  goin'  gold-huntin'.  I'm  sure  you  shan't  go 
cook  on  any  whaler ;  I've  got  too  much  regard  for  sailors' 
digestions  to  let  you  do  that." 

"Thankful,  I — I'll  work  my  hands  off  for  you. 
I'll— 

"All  right,  all  right.  Now  trot  along  and  warm  those 
hands  or  you  won't  have  any  left  to  work  off ;  they'll  be 
shook  off  with  the  shivers.  Come,  Jed,  I  forgive  you ; 
after  all,  you're  my  brother,  though  you  did  run  away 
and  leave  me." 

"Then — then  you're  glad  I  came  back?" 

"Glad !"  Thankful  shook  her  head  with  a  tearful 
smile.  "Glad!"  she  repeated.  "I've  been  workin'  heav 
ens  and  earth  to  get  you  back  ever  since  I  got 
that  pitiful  letter  of  yours.  You  poor  thing!  You 
must  have  had  a  hard  time  of  it.  Well,  you  can  tell 
me  all  about  it  by  and  by.  Now  you  march  into  that 
kitchen." 

Another  hour  had  passed  before  Mrs.  Barnes  reentered 
319 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

the  living-room.    There,  to  her  astonishment,  she  found 
Emily  awaiting  her. 

"Why,  for  goodness  sakes !"  cried  Thankful.  "What 
are  you  doin'  here?  I  thought  you'd  gone  to  bed  long 
ago." 

Emily's  reply  was  given  in  an  odd  tone.  She  did  not 
look  at  her  cousin  when  she  spoke. 

"No,  no,"  she  said,  quickly.  "I — I  haven't  gone  to 
bed." 

"I  see  you  haven't,  but  why?" 

"I  didn't  want  to.    I — I'm  not  sleepy." 

"Not  sleepy!  At  two  o'clock  in  the  mornin'?  Well," 
with  a  sigh,  "I  suppose  'tain't  to  be  wondered  at.  What's 
happened  this  night  is  enough  to  keep  anybody  awake. 
I  can't  believe  it  even  yet.  To  think  of  his  comin'  back 
after  I've  given  him  up  for  dead  twice  over.  It's  like  a 
story-book." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"Up  in  bed,  in  one  of  the  attic  rooms.  If  he  hasn't 
got  his  death  of  cold  it'll  be  a  wonder.  And  such  yarns 
as  he's  been  spinnin'  to  me.  I — Emily,  what's  the  matter 
with  you?  What  makes  you  act  so  queer?" 

Emily  did  not  answer.  Mrs.  Barnes  walked  across  the 
room  and,  stooping,  peered  into  her  face. 

"You're  white  as  a  sheet !"  she  cried,  in  alarm.  "And 
you're  tremblin'  all  over.  What  in  the  world  is  the 
matter  ?" 

Emily  tried  to  smile,  but  it  was  a  poor  attempt. 

"Nothing,  nothing,  Auntie,"  she  said.  "That  is,  I — I'm 
sure  it  can't  be  anything  to  be  afraid  of." 

"But  you  are  afraid,  just  the  same.  What  is  it?  Tell 
me  this  minute." 

For  the  first  time  Emily  looked  her  cousin  in  the 
face. 

320 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Auntie,"  she  whispered,  "I  am — I  have  been  fright 
ened.  Something  I  heard  upstairs  frightened  me." 

"Somethin'  you  heard  upstairs?  Where?  Has 
Georgie " 

"No,  Georgie  is  asleep  in  his  room.  I  locked  the  door. 
It  wasn't  Georgie;  it  was  something  else." 

"Somethin' — Emily  Howes,  do  you  want  to  scare  me  to 
death?  What  is  it?" 

"I  don't  know  what  it  is.  I  heard  it  first  when  I  came 
out  of  Georgie's  room  a  few  minutes  ago.  Then  I  went 
down  the  hall  to  his  door  and  listened.  Aunt  Thankful, 
he — he  is  in  there  talking — talking  to  someone." 

"He?    Talkin'?    Who?" 

"Mr.  Cobb.  It  was  dreadful.  He  was  talking  to — to 
— I  don't  know  what  he  was  talking  to,  but  it  was  awful 
to  hear." 

"Talkin'  ?  Solomon  Cobb  was  talkin'  ?  In  his  sleep,  do 
you  mean?" 

"No,  he  wasn't  asleep.  He  was  talking  to  someone,  or 
some  thing,  in  that  room.  And  that  wasn't  all.  I  heard 
— I  heard — Oh,  I  did  hear  it !  I  know  I  did !  And  yet 
it  couldn't  be !  It  couldn't !" 

"Emily  Howes,  if  you  keep  on  I'll — What  did  you 
hear?" 

"I  don't  know.  .  .  .  Aunt  Thankful,  where  are  you 
going?" 

Thankful  did  not  answer.  She  was  on  her  way  to 
the  front  hall  and  the  stairs.  Emily  rushed  after  her 
and  would  have  detained  her  if  she  could,  but  Thankful 
would  not  be  detained.  Up  the  stairs  they  went  together 
and  along  the  narrow  dark  hall.  At  the  end  of  the  hall 
was  the  door  of  the  back  bedroom,  or  the  larger  room 
adjoining  it.  The  door  was  closed,  but  from  beneath  it 
shone  lamplight  in  sharp,  yellow  streaks.  And  from  be- 

321 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

hind  it  came  faintly  the  sound  of  a  deep  groan,  the  groan 
of  a  soul  in  agony. 

"He's  sick,"  whispered  Thankful.  "The  man's  sick. 
I'm  goin*  to  him." 

"He  isn't  sick.  It — it's  something  else.  I  tell  you  I 
heard " 

Thankful  did  not  wait  to  learn  what  her  cousin  had 
heard.  She  tiptoed  down  the  hall  and  Emily  followed. 
The  two  women  crouched  beside  the  closed  door  of  Mr. 
Cobb's  room.  And  within  that  room  they  heard  Solo 
mon's  voice,  now  rising  almost  to  a  shriek,  now  sinking 
to  a  groan,  as  its  owner  raved  on  and  on,  talking,  plead 
ing,  praying. 

"Oh,  don't— don't,  Abner!"  cried  Mr.  Cobb.  "Don't, 
no  more!  Please  don't!  I  know  what  you  mean.  I 
know  it  all.  I'm  sorry.  I  know  I  ain't  done  right.  But 
I'll  make  it  right;  I  swear  to  the  Almighty  I  will!  I 
know  I've  broke  my  word  to  you  and  acted  wicked  and 
mean,  but  I  give  you  my  solemn  word  I'll  make  every 
thing  right.  Only  just  quit  and  go  away,  that's  all  I  ask. 
Just  quit  that — Oh,  there  you  go  again!  Quit!  Please 
quit!" 

It  was  dreadful  to  hear,  but  this  was  not  the  most 
dreadful.  Between  the  agonized  sentences  and  whenever 
the  wind  lulled,  the  listeners  at  the  door  heard  another 
sound,  a  long-drawn  gasp  and  groan,  a  series  of  gasps 
and  groans,  as  of  something  fighting  for  breath,  the  un 
mistakable  sound  of  snoring. 

Emily  grasped  her  cousin's  arm.  "Come,  come  away !" 
she  whispered.  "I — I  believe  I'm  going  to  faint." 

Mrs.  Barnes  did  not  wait  to  be  urged.  She  put  her 
arm  about  the  young  lady's  waist  and  together  they  tip 
toed  back  to  Thankful's  bedroom.  There,  Mrs.  Barnes's 
first  move  was  to  light  the  lamp,  the  second  to  close  and 

322 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

lock  the  door.  Then  the  pair  sat  down,  one  upon  the 
bed  and  the  other  on  a  chair,  and  gazed  into  each  other's 
pale  faces. 

Emily  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"I— I  don't  believe  it!"  she  declared,  shakily.  "I  know 
it  isn't  real !" 

"So— so  do  I." 

"But— but  we  heard  it.     We  both  heard  it." 

"Well — well,  I  give  in  I — I  heard  somethin',  somethin' 
that.  .  .  .  My  soul !  Am  I  goin'  crazy  to  finish  off  this 
night  with  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  If  you  are,  then  I  must  be  going  with 
you.  What  can  it  be,  Auntie  ?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"There  is  no  other  door  to  that  room,  is  there  ?" 

"No." 

"Then  what  can  it  be?" 

"I  don't  know.  Imogene's  in  her  own  room ;  I  looked 
in  and  saw  her  when  I  took  Jedediah  up  attic.  And 
Georgie's  in  his  with  the  door  locked.  And  you  and 
I  are  here.  There  can't  be  a  livin*  soul  in  that  room  with 
Solomon,  not  a  livin'  soul." 

"But  we  heard — we  both  heard " 

"I  know;  I  know.  And  I  heard  somethin'  there  be 
fore.  And  so  did  Miss  Timpson.  Emily,  did — did  you 
hear  him  call — call  it  'Abner'?" 

"Yes,"  with  a  shudder.  "I  heard.  Who  could  help 
hearing !" 

"And  Cap'n  Abner  was  my  uncle ;  and  he  used  to  live 
here.  .  .  .  There!"  with  sudden  determination.  "That's 
enough  of  this.  We'll  both  be  stark,  ravin'  distracted 
if  we  keep  on  this  way.  My  soul !  Hear  that  wind !  I 
said  once  that  all  the  big  things  in  my  life  had  happened 
durin'  a  storm  and  so  they  have.  Jedediah  went  away 

323 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

in  a  storm  and  he's  come  back  in  a  storm.  And  now  if 
Uncle  Abner's  comin'  back.  .  .  .  There  I  go  again! 
Emily,  do  you  feel  like  goin'  to  bed  ?" 

"To  bed!  After  that?  Auntie,  how  can  you!" 
"All  right,  then  we'll  set  up  till  mornin'.  Turn  that 
lamp  as  high  as  you  can  and  we'll  set  by  it  and  wait  for 
daylight.  By  that  time  we  may  have  some  of  our  sense 
back  again  and  not  behave  like  two  feeble-minded  fools. 
Turn  that  wick  up — way  up,  Emily  Howes !  And  talk — 
talk  just  as  hard  as  you  can — about  somethin'  or  some 
body  that's  alive!' 


CHAPTER   XVI 

EMILY  obeyed  orders  as  far  as  turning  up  the 
wick  was  concerned,  and  she  did  her  best  to 
talk.  It  was  hard  work ;  both  she  and  her  cousin 
found  themselves  breaking  off  a  sentence  in  the  middle  to 
listen  and  draw  closer  together  as  the  wild  gusts  whistled 
about  the  windows  and  the  water  poured  from  the  sashes 
and  gurgled  upon  the  sills.  Occasionally  Thankful  went 
to  the  door  to  look  down  the  dark  hall  in  the  direction 
of  Mr.  Cobb's  room,  or  to  unlock  Georgie's  door  and 
peer  in  to  make  sure  that  the  boy  was  safe  and  sleeping. 

From  the  third  of  these  excursions  Mrs.  Barnes  re 
turned  with  a  bit  of  reassuring  news. 

"I  went  almost  there  this  time,"  she  whispered.  "My 
conscience  has  been  tormenting  me  to  think  of — of  Solo 
mon's  bein'  alone  in  there  with — with  that,  and  I  almost 
made  up  my  mind  to  sing  out  and  ask  if  he  was  all 
right.  But  I  didn't  have  to,  thank  goodness.  His  light's 
still  lit  and  I  heard  him  movin'  around,  so  he  ain't  been 
scared  clean  to  death,  at  any  rate.  For  the  rest  of  it 
I  don't  care  so  much ;  a  good  hard  scarin'  may  do  him 
good.  He  needs  one.  If  ever  a  stingy  old  reprobate 
needed  to  have  a  warnin'  from  the  hereafter  that  man 
does." 

"Did  you  hear  anything — anything  else?"  whispered 
Emily,  fearfully. 

"No,  I  didn't,  and  I  didn't  wait  for  fear  I  might  hear 
325 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

it.  Did  I  lock  the  door  when  I  came  in  ?  Emily,  I  guess 
you  think  I'm  the  silliest  old  coward  that  ever  was.  I  am 
— and  I  know  it.  Tomorrow  we'll  both  be  brave  enough, 
and  we'll  both  know  there  ain't  any  spirits  here,  or  any 
where  else  this  side  of  the  grave ;  but  tonight — well,  to 
night's  different.  .  .  .  Ouch !  what  was  that  ?  There, 
there!  don't  mind  my  jumpin'.  I  feel  as  if  I'd  been 
stuffed  with  springs,  like  a  sofa.  Did  you  ever  know  a 
night  as  long  as  this?  Won't  mornin'  ever  come?" 

At  five  o'clock,  while  it  was  still  pitch  dark,  Thankful 
announced  her  intention  of  going  downstairs.  "Might 
as  well  be  in  the  kitchen  as  up  here,"  she  said,  "and  I 
can  keep  busy  till  Imogene  comes  down.  And,  besides, 
we'd  better  be  puttin'  Georgie's  stockin'  and  his  presents 
in  the  livin'-room.  The  poor  little  shaver's  got  to  have 
his  Christmas,  even  though  his  Santa  Claus  did  turn  out 
to  be  a  walkin'  rag-bag." 

Emily  started.  "Why,  it  is  Christmas,  isn't  it!"  she 
exclaimed.  "Between  returned  brothers  and,"  with  a 
little  shiver,  "ghosts,  I  forgot  entirely." 

She  kissed  her  cousin's  cheek. 

"A  merry  Christmas,  Aunt  Thankful,"  she  said. 

Thankful  returned  the  kiss.  "Same  to  you,  dearie, 
and  many  of  'em,"  she  replied.  "Well,  here's  another 
Christmas  day  come  to  me.  A  year  ago  I  didn't  think 
I'd  be  here.  I  wonder  where  I'll  be  next  Christmas. 
Will  I  have  a  home  of  my  own  or  will  what  I've  thought 
was  my  home  belong  to  Sol  Cobb  or  Holliday  Kendrick?" 

"Hush,  Auntie,  hush!  Your  home  won't  be  taken 
from  you.  It  would  be  too  mean,  too  dreadful!  God 
won't  permit  such  a  thing." 

"I  sartin'  hope  he  won't,  but  it  seems  sometimes  as  if 
he  permitted  some  mighty  mean  things,  'cordin'  to  our 
way  of  lookin'  at  'em.  That  light's  still  burnin',"  she 

326 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

added,  peering  out  into  the  hall.  "Well,  I  suppose  I 
ought  to  pity  Solomon,  but  I  don't  when  I  think  how 
he's  treated  me.  If  the  ghost — or  whatever  'tis  in  there 
— weeded  out  the  rest  of  his  whiskers  for  him  I  don't 
know's  I'd  care.  'T would  serve  him  right,  I  guess." 

They  rehung  Georgie's  stocking — bulging  and  knobby 
it  was  now — and  arranged  his  more  bulky  presents  be 
neath  it  on  the  floor.  Then  Thankful  went  into  the 
kitchen  and  Emily  accompanied  her.  The  morning  broke, 
pale  and  gray.  The  wind  had  subsided  and  it  no  longer 
rained.  With  the  returning  daylight  Emily's  courage 
began  to  revive. 

"I  can't  understand,"  she  said,  "how  you  and  I  could 
have  been  so  childish  last  night.  We  should  have  in 
sisted  on  calling  to  Mr.  Cobb  and  then  we  should  have 
found  out  what  it  was  that  frightened  him  and  us.  I 
mean  to  go  over  every  inch  of  those  two  rooms  before 
dinner  time." 

Thankful  nodded.  "I'll  do  it  with  you,"  she  said. 
"But  I've  been  over  'em  so  many  times  that  I'm  pretty 
skeptical.  The  time  to  go  over  'em  is  in  the  night  when 
that — that  snorin'  is  goin'  on.  A  ghost  that  snores  ought, 
by  rights,  to  be  one  that's  asleep,  and  a  sound-asleep  ghost 
ought  to  be  easy  to  locate.  Oh,  yes!  I  can  make  fun 
now.  I  told  you  I  was  as  brave  as  a  lion — in  the  day 
time." 

It  was  easy  to  talk  now,  and  they  drifted  into  a  dis 
cussion  of  many  things.  Thankful  retold  the  story  of  her 
struggle  to  keep  the  High  Cliff  House  afloat,  told  it  all, 
her  hopes,  her  fears  and  her  discouragements.  They 
spoke  of  Captain  Bangs,  of  his  advice  and  help  and 
friendship.  Emily  brought  the  captain  into  the  conver 
sation  and  kept  him  there.  Thankful  said  little  concern 
ing  him,  and  of  the  one  surprising,  intimate  interview 

327 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

between  Captain  Obed  and  herself  she  said  not  a  word. 
She  it  was  who  first  mentioned  John  Kendrick's  name. 
Emily  was  at  first  disinclined  to  speak  of  the  young  law 
yer,  but,  little  by  little,  as  her  cousin  hinted  and  ques 
tioned,  she  said  more  and  more.  Thankful  learned  what 
she  wished  to  learn,  and  it  was  what  she  had  suspected. 
She  learned  something  else,  too,  something  which  con 
cerned  another  citizen  of  East  Wellmouth. 

"I  knew  it !"  she  cried.  "I  didn't  believe  'twas  so,  and 
I  as  much  as  told  Cap'n  Obed  'twasn't  this  very  day — 
no,  yesterday,  I  mean.  When  a  body  don't  go  to  bed  at 
all  the  days  kind  of  run  into  one  another." 

"What  did  you  know?"  asked  Emily.  "What  were 
you  and  Captain  Obed  talking  of  that  concerned  me?" 

"Nothin',  nothin',  dear.  It  didn't  concern  you  one 
bit,  and  'twasn't  important.  ...  Hi  hum!"  rising  and 
looking  out  of  the  window.  "It's  gettin'  brighter  fast 
now.  Looks  as  if  we  might  have  a  pleasant  Christmas, 
after  all.  Wonder  how  poor  Jedediah'll  feel  when  he 
wakes  up.  I  hope  he  slept  warm  anyhow.  I  piled  on 
comforters  and  quilts  enough  to  smother  him." 

Her  attempt  at  changing  the  subject  was  successful. 
Emily's  next  question  concerned  Jedediah. 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  do  with  him,  Auntie?"  she 
asked.  "He  must  stay  here,  mustn't  he?" 

"Course  he  must.  I'll  never  trust  him  out  of  my 
sight  again.  He  ain't  competent  to  take  care  of  himself 
and  so  I'll  have  to  take  care  of  him.  Well,"  with  a 
sigh,  "it'll  only  be  natural,  that's  all.  I've  been  used 
to  takin'  care  of  somebody  all  my  days.  I  wonder  how 
'twould  seem  to  have  somebody  take  care  of  me  for  a 
change?  Not  that  there's  liable  to  be  anybody  doin'  it," 
she  added  hastily. 

"Jedediah  might  be  useful  to  work  about  the  place 
328 


here,"  said  Emily.  "You  will  always  need  a  hired  man, 
you  know." 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  need  two,  and  I  couldn't  discharge 
Kenelm  on  Imogene's  account.  What  that  girl  ever  got 
engaged  to  that  old  image  for  is  more'n  I  can  make  out 
or  ever  shall." 

Emily  smiled.  "I  shouldn't  worry  about  Imogene," 
she  said.  "I  think  she  knows  perfectly  well  what  she  is 
about." 

"Maybe  so,  but  if  she  does,  then  her  kind  of  knowl 
edge  is  different  from  mine.  If  I  was  goin'  to  marry 
anybody  in  that  family  'twould  be  Hannah;  she's  the 
most  man  of  the  two." 

Imogene  herself  came  down  a  few  minutes  later. 
She  was  much  surprised  to  find  her  mistress  and  Miss 
Howes  dressed  and  in  the  kitchen.  Also  she  was  very 
curious. 

"Who's  that  man,"  she  asked;  "the  one  in  the  next 
room  to  mine,  up  attic  ?  Is  he  a  new  boarder  ?  He  must 
have  come  awful  late.  I  heard  you  and  him  talkin'  in  the 
middle  of  the  night.  Who  is  he?" 

When  told  the  story  of  Jedediah's  return  she  was 
greatly  excited. 

"Why,  it's  just  like  somethin'  in  a  story!"  she  cried. 
"Long-lost  folks  are  always  comin'  back  in  stories.  And 
comin'  Christmas  Eve  makes  it  all  the  better.  Lordy — 
There,  I  ain't  said  that  for  weeks  and  weeks!  Excuse 
me,  Mrs.  Thankful.  I  won't  say  it  again.  But — but 
what  are  we  goin'  to  do  with  him?  Is  he  goin'  to  stay 
here  for  good?" 

Thankful  answered  that  she  supposed  he  was,  he  had 
no  other  place  to  stay. 

"Is  he  rich  ?  He  ought  to  be.  Folks  in  stories  always 
come  home  rich  after  they've  run  off." 

329 


"Well,  this  one  didn't.  He  missed  connections,  some 
how.  Rich !  No,"  drily,  "he  ain't  rich." 

"Well,  what  will  he  do  ?  Will  we  have  to  take  care  of 
him — free,  I  mean?  Excuse  me  for  buttin'  in,  ma'am, 
but  it  does  seem  as  if  we  had  enough  on  our  hands 
without  takin'  another  free  boarder." 

Thankful  went  into  the  dining-room.  Emily,  when 
the  question  was  repeated  to  her,  suggested  that,  possibly, 
Jedediah  might  work  about  the  place,  take  care  of  the 
live-stock  and  of  the  garden,  when  there  was  one. 

Imogene  reflected.  "Hum!"  she  mused.  "We  don't 
need  two  hired  hands,  that's  a  sure  thing.  You  mean 
he'll  take  Kenelm's  job?" 

"That  isn't  settled,  so  you  mustn't  speak  of  it.  I 
know  my  cousin  will  be  very  sorry  to  let  Kenelm  go, 
largely  on  your  account,  Imogene." 

"On  my  account?" 

"Why,  yes.  You  and  he  are  engaged  to  be  married  and 
of  course  you  like  to  have  him  here." 

Imogene  burst  out  laughing.  "Don't  you  worry  about 
that,  Miss  Emily,"  she  said.  "I  shan't,  and  I  don't  think 
Kenelm  will,  either." 

Breakfast  was  ready  at  last  and  they  were  just  sitting 
down  to  the  table — it  had  been  decided  not  to  call 
Jedediah  or  Mr.  Cobb — when  Georgie  appeared.  The 
boy  had  crept  downstairs,  his  small  head  filled  with  fore 
bodings;  but  the  sight  of  the  knobby  stocking  and  the 
heap  of  presents  sent  his  fears  flying  and  he  burst  into 
the  room  with  a  shriek  of  joy.  One  by  one  the  packages 
were  unwrapped  and,  with  each  unwrapping,  the  young 
ster's  excitement  rose. 

"Gee !"  he  cried,  as  he  sat  in  the  middle  of  the  heap 
of  toys  and  brown  paper  and  looked  about  him.  "Gee ! 
They're  all  here;  everything  I  wanted — but  that  air- 

330 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

gun.  I  don't  care,  though.  Maybe  I'll  get  that  next 
Christmas.  Or  maybe  Cap'n  Bangs'll  give  it  to  me,  any 
how.  He  gives  me  most  anything,  if  I  tease  for  it." 

Thankful  shook  her  head.  "You  see,  Georgie,"  she 
said,  "it  pays  to  be  a  good  boy.  If  Santa  had  caught 
you  hidin'  under  that  sofa  and  watchin'  for  him  last 
night  you  might  not  have  got  any  of  these  nice  things." 

Georgie  did  not  answer  immediately.  When  he  did 
it  was  in  a  rather  doubtful  tone. 

"There  ain't  any  soot  on  'em,  anyhow,"  he  observed. 
"And  they  ain't  wet,  either." 

Imogene  clapped  her  hand  to  her  mouth  and  hurried 
from  the  room.  "You  can't  fool  that  kid  much,"  she 
whispered  to  Emily  afterward.  "He's  the  smartest  kid 
ever  I  saw.  I'll  keep  out  of  his  way  for  a  while ;  7  don't 
want  to  have  to  answer  his  questions." 

There  were  other  presents  besides  those  given  to 
Georgie;  presents  for  Emily  from  Thankful,  and  for 
Thankful  from  Emily,  and  for  Imogene  from  both. 
There  was  nothing  costly,  of  course,  but  no  one  cared  for 
that. 

As  they  were  beginning  breakfast  Jedediah  ap 
peared.  His  garments,  which  had  been  drying  by  the 
kitchen  stove  all  night  and  which  Imogene  had  deposited 
in  a  heap  at  his  bedroom  door,  were  wrinkled,  but  his 
face  shone  from  the  vigorous  application  of  soap  and 
water  and,  as  his  sister  said  afterward,  "You  could 
see  his  complexion  without  diggin'  for  it,  and  that  was 
somethin'." 

His  manner  was  subdued  and  he  was  very,  very  polite 
and  anxious  to  please,  but  his  appetite  was  in  good 
order.  Introduced  to  Imogene  he  expressed  himself  as 
pleased  to  meet  her.  Georgie  he  greeted  with  some  hesi 
tation;  evidently  the  memory  of  his  midnight  encounter 

331 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

with  the  boy  embarrassed  him.  But  Georgia,  when  he 
learned  that  the  shabby  person  whom  he  was  told  to 
call  "Uncle  Jed"  was,  although  only  an  imitation  Santa 
Claus,  a  genuine  gold-hunter  and  traveler  who  had  seen 
real  Esquimaux  and  polar  bears,  warmed  to  his  new 
relative  immediately. 

When  the  meal  was  over  Jedediah  made  what  was,  for 
him,  an  amazing  suggestion. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "I  cal'late  I'd  better  be  gettin'  to  work, 
hadn't  I?  What'll  I  do  first,  Thankful?" 

Mrs.  Barnes  stared  at  him.  "Work?"  she  repeated. 
"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  I  want  to  be  doin'  somethin' — somethin'  to 
help,  you  know.  I  don't  cal'late  to  stay  around  here  and 
loaf.  No,  sir!" 

Thankful  drew  a  long  breath.  "All  right,  Jed,"  she 
said.  "You  can  go  out  in  the  barn  and  feed  the  horse 
if  you  want  to.  Kenelm — Mr.  Parker — generally  does 
it,  but  he  probably  won't  be  here  for  quite  a  spell  yet. 
Go  ahead.  Imogene'll  show  you  what  to  do.  .  .  .  But, 
say,  hold  on,"  she  added,  with  emphasis.  "Don't  you 
go  off  the  premises,  and  if  you  see  anybody  comin',  keep 
out  of  sight.  I  don't  want  anybody  to  see  a  brother 
of  mine  in  those  clothes.  Soon's  ever  I  can  I'll  go  up 
to  the  village  and  buy  you  somethin'  to  wear,  if  it's  only 
an  'ilskin  jacket  and  a  pair  of  overalls.  They'll  cover 
up  the  rags,  anyhow.  As  you  are  now,  you  look  like 
one  of  Georgie's  picture-puzzles  partly  put  together." 

When  the  eager  applicant  for  employment  had  gone, 
under  Imogene's  guidance,  Emily  spoke  her  mind. 

"Auntie,"  she  said,  "are  you  going  to  make  him  work 
— now;  after  what  he's  been  through,  and  on  Christmas 
day,  too?" 

Thankful  was  still  staring  after  her  brother. 
332 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Sshh !  sshh !"  she  commanded.  "Don't  speak  to 
me  for  a  minute;  you  may  wake  me  up.  Jedediah  Ca- 
hoon  askin'  to  go  to  work !  All  the  miracles  in  Scriptur' 
are  nothin'  to  this." 

"But,  Auntie,  he  did  ask.  And  do  you  think  he  is 
strong  enough?" 

"Hush,  Emily,  hush!  You  don't  know  Jedediah. 
Strong  enough!  I'm  the  one  that  needs  strength,  if  I'm 
goin'  to  have  shocks  like  this  one  sprung  on  me." 

Emily  said  no  more,  but  she  noticed  that  her  cousin 
was  wearing  the  two-dollar  ring,  the  wanderer's  "fare 
well"  gift,  so  she  judged  that  brother  Jed  would  not  be 
worked  beyond  the  bounds  of  moderation. 

Left  alone  in  the  dining-room — Georgie  had  returned 
to  the  living-room  and  his  presents — the  two  women 
looked  at  each  other.  Neither  had  eaten  a  breakfast 
worth  mentioning  and  the  same  thought  was  in  the  mind 
of  each. 

"Auntie,"  whispered  Emily,  voicing  that  thought, 
"don't  you  think  we  ought  to  go  up  and — and  see  if  he  is 
—all  right." 

Thankful  nodded.  "Yes,"  she  said,  "I  suppose  we 
had.  He's  alive,  I  know  that  much,  for  I  had  Imogene 
knock  on  his  door  just  now  and  he  answered.  But  I 
guess  maybe  we'd  better " 

She  did  not  finish  the  sentence  for  at  that  moment  the 
subject  of  the  conversation  entered  the  room.  It  was 
Solomon  Cobb  who  entered,  but,  except  for  his  clothes, 
he  was  a  changed  man.  His  truculent  arrogance  was 
gone,  he  came  in  slowly  and  almost  as  if  he  were  walk 
ing  in  his  sleep.  His  collar  was  unbuttoned,  his  hair 
had  not  been  combed,  and  the  face  between  the  thin 
bunches  of  whiskers  was  white  and  drawn.  He  did 
not  speak  to  either  Emily  or  Thankful,  but,  dragging 

333 


one  foot  after  the  other,  crossed  the  room  and  sat  down 
in  a  chair  by  the  window. 

Thankful  spoke  to  him. 

"Are  you  sick,  Solomon?"  she  asked. 

Mr.  Cobb  shook  his  head. 

"Eh?"  he  grunted.  "No,  no,  I  ain't  sick.  I  guess  I 
ain't;  I  don't  know." 

"Breakfast  is  all  ready,  Mr.  Cobb,"  suggested  Emily. 

Solomon  turned  a  weary  eye  in  her  direction.  He 
looked  old,  very  old. 

"Breakfast!"  he  repeated  feebly.  "Don't  talk  about 
breakfast  to  me!  I'll  never  eat  again  in  this  world." 

Thankful  pitied  him;  she  could  not  help  it. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will,"  she  said,  heartily.  "Just  try  one 
of  those  clam  fritters  of  Imogene's  and  you'll  eat  a 
whole  lot.  If  you  don't  you'll  be  the  first  one." 

He  shook  his  head.  "Thankful,"  he  said,  slowly,  "I — 
I  want  to  talk  to  you.  I've  got  to  talk  to  you — alone." 

"Alone!  Why,  Emily's  just  the  same  as  one  of  the 
family.  There's  no  secrets  between  us,  Solomon." 

"I  don't  care.  I  wan't  to  talk  to  you.  It's  you  I've 
got  to  talk  to." 

Thankful  would  have  protested  once  more,  but  Emily 
put  a  hand  on  her  arm. 

"I'll  go  into  the  living-room  with  Georgie,  Auntie,"  she 
whispered.  "Yes,  I  shall." 

She  went  and  closed  the  door  behind  her.  Thankful 
sat  down  in  a  chair,  wondering  what  was  coming  next. 
Solomon  did  not  look  at  her,  but,  after  a  moment,  he 
spoke. 

"Thankful  Cahoon,"  he  said,  calling  her  by  her  maiden 
name.  "I — I've  been  a  bad  man.  I'm  goin'  to  hell." 

Thankful  jumped.    "Mercy  on  us !"  she  cried.    "What 

kind  of  talk " 

334 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"I'm  goin'  to  hell,"  repeated  Solomon.  "When  a  man 
does  the  way  I've  done  that's  where  he  goes.  I'm  goin' 
there  and  I'm  goin'  pretty  soon.  I've  had  my  notice." 

Thankful  stood  up.  She  was  convinced  that  her 
visitor  had  been  driven  crazy  by  his  experience  in  the 
back  bedroom. 

"Now,  now,  now,"  she  faltered.  "Don't  talk  so  wicked, 
Solomon  Cobb.  You've  been  a  church  man  for  years, 
and  a  professor  of  religion.  You  told  me  so,  yourself. 
How  can  you  set  there  and  say " 

Mr.  Cobb  waved  his  hand. 

"Don't  make  no  difference,"  he  moaned.  "Or,  if  it 
does,  it  only  makes  it  worse.  I  know  where  I'm  goin', 
but — but  I'll  go  with  a  clean  manifest,  anyhow.  I'll  tell 
you  the  whole  thing.  I  promised  the  dead  I  would  and 
I  will.  Thankful  Cahoon,  I've  been  a  bad  man  to  you. 
I  swore  my  solemn  oath  as  a  Christian  to  one  that  was 
my  best  friend,  and  I  broke  it. 

"Years  ago  I  swore  by  all  that  was  good  and  great 
I'd  look  out  for  you  and  see  that  you  was  comf'table  and 
happy  long's  you  lived.  And  instead  of  that,  when  I  come 
here  last  night — led  here,  I  know  now  that  I  was — my 
mind  was  about  made  up  to  take  your  home  away  from 
you,  if  I  could.  Yes,  sir,  I  was  cal'latin'  to  foreclose 
on  you  and  sell  this  place  to  Kendrick.  I  thought  I  was 
mighty  smart  and  was  doin'  a  good  stroke  of  business. 
No  mortal  man  could  have  made  me  think  diff'rent ;  but 
an  immortal  one  did!" 

He  groaned  and  wiped  his  forehead.  Thankful  did 
not  speak ;  her  surprise  and  curiosity  were  too  great  for 
speech. 

"  'Twas  your  Uncle  Abner  Barnes,"  went  on  Solomon, 
"that  was  the  makin'  of  me.  I  sailed  fust  mate  for  him 
fourteen  year.  And  he  always  treated  me  fine,  raised 

335 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

my  wages  right  along,  and  the  like  of  that.  'Twas  him 
that  put  me  in  the  way  of  investin'  my  money  in  them 
sugar  stocks  and  the  rest.  He  made  me  rich,  or  headed 
me  that  way.  And  when  he  lost  all  he  had  except  this 
place  here  and  was  dyin'  aboard  the  old  schooner,  he 
calls  me  to  him  and  he  says : 

''  'Sol,'  he  says,  'Sol,  I've  done  consider'ble  for  you, 
and  you've  said  you  was  grateful.  Well,  I'm  goin'  to 
ask  a  favor  of  you.  I  ain't  got  a  cent  of  my  own  left, 
and  my  niece  by  marriage,  Thankful  Cahoon  that  was, 
that  I  love  same  as  if  she  was  my  own  child,  may,  some 
time  or  other,  be  pretty  hard  put  to  it  to  get  along.  I 
want  you  to  look  after  her.  If  ever  the  time  comes  that 
she  needs  money  or  help  I  want  you  to  do  for  her  what 
I'd  do  if  I  was  here.  If  you  don't/  he  says,  risin'  on  one 
elbow  in  the  bunk,  'I'll  come  back  and  ha'nt  you.  Prom 
ise  on  your  solemn  oath.'  And  I  promised.  And  you 
know  how  I've  kept  that  promise.  And  last  night  he 
come  back.  Yes,  sir,  he  come  back!" 

Still  Thankful  said  nothing.  He  groaned  again  and 
went  on : 

"Last  night,"  he  said,  "up  in  that  bedroom,  I  woke 
up  and,  as  sure  as  I'm  settin'  here  this  minute,  I  heard 
Cap'n  Abner  Barnes  snorin'  just  as  he  snored  afore  his 
death  aboard  the  schooner,  T.  I.  Smalley,  in  the  state 
room  next  to  mine.  I  knew  it  in  a  minute,  but  I  got  up 
and  went  all  round  my  room  and  the  empty  one  alongside. 
There  was  nothin'  there,  of  course.  Nothin'  but  the 
snorin'.  And  I  got  down  on  my  knees  and  swore  to  set 
things  right  this  very  day.  Give  me  a  pen  and  ink  and 
some  paper." 

"Eh?    What?" 

"Give  me  a  pen  and  some  ink  and  paper.  Don't  sit 
there  starin' !  Hurry  up !  Can't  you  see  I  want  to  get 

336 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

this  thing  off  my  chest  afore  I  die!  And — and  I — I 
wouldn't  be  surprised  if  I  died  any  minute.  Hurry  up!" 

Thankful  went  into  the  living-room  in  search  of  the 
writing  materials.  Emily,  who  was  sitting  on  the  floor 
with  Georgie  and  the  presents,  turned  to  ask  a  question. 

"What  is  it,  Auntie?"  she  whispered,  eagerly.  "Is  it 
anything  important  ?" 

Her  cousin  made  an  excited  gesture. 

"I — I  don't  know,"  she  whispered  in  reply.  "Either 
he's  been  driven  looney  by  what  happened  last  night, 
or  else — or  else  somethin's  goin'  to  happen  that  I  don't 
dast  to  believe.  Emily,  you  stand  right  here  by  the  door. 
I  may  want  you." 

"Where's  that  pen  and  things?"  queried  Solomon 
from  the  next  room.  "Ain't  you  ever  comin'  ?" 

When  the  writing  materials  were  brought  and  placed 
upon  the  dining-room  table  he  drew  his  chair  to  that 
table  and  scrawled  a  few  lines. 

"Somebody  ought  to  witness  this,"  he  cried,  nervously. 
"Some  disinterested  person  ought  to  witness  this.  Then 
'twill  hold  in  law.  Where's  that — that  Howes  girl  ?  Oh, 
here  you  be !  Here !  you  sign  that  as  a  witness." 

Emily,  who  had  entered  at  the  mention  of  her  name, 
took  the  paper  from  his  trembling  ringers.  She  read 
what  was  written  upon  it. 

"Why — why,  Auntie!"  she  cried,  excitedly.  "Aunt 
Thankful,  have  you  seen  this  ?  He " 

"Stop  your  talk!"  shouted  Solomon.  "Can't  you 
women  do  nothin'  but  talk?  Sign  your  name  alongside 
of  mine  as  a  witness." 

Emily  took  the  pen  and  signed  as  directed.  Mr.  Cobb 
snatched  the  paper  from  her,  glanced  at  it  and  then 
handed  it  to  Thankful. 

"There !"  he  cried.     "That's  done,  anyhow.    I've  done 

337 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

so  much.     Now — now  don't  say  a  word  to  me  for  a 
spell.    I — I'm  all  in ;  that's  what  I  am,  all  in." 

Thankful  did  not  say  a  word;  she  couldn't  have  said 
it  at  that  moment.  Upon  the  paper  which  she  held  in 
her  hand  was  written  a  cancellation  of  the  fifteen-hun 
dred-dollar  mortgage  and  a  receipt  in  full  for  the  loan 
itself,  signed  by  Solomon  Cobb. 

Dimly  and  uncomprehendingly  she  heard  Emily  trying 
to  thank  their  visitor.  But  thanks  he  would  not  listen 
to. 

"No,  no,  no!"  he  shouted.  "Go  away  and  let  me 
alone.  I'm  a  wicked,  condemned  critter.  Nobody's 
ever  cared  a  durn  for  me,  nobody  but  one,  and  I  broke 
my  word  to  him.  Friendless  I've  lived  since  Abner  went 
and  friendless  I'll  die.  Serve  me  right.  I  ain't  got  a 
livin'  soul  of  my  own  blood  in  the  world." 

But  Thankful  was  in  a  measure  herself  again. 

"Don't  talk  so,  Solomon,"  she  cried.  "You  have  got 
somebody  of  your  own  blood.  I'm  a  relation  of  yours, 
even  if  'tis  a  far-off  relation.  I — I  don't  know  how  to 
thank  you  for  this.  I " 

He  interrupted  again. 

"Yes,"  he  wailed,  "you're  my  relation.  I  know  it. 
Think  that  makes  it  any  better?  Look  how  I've  treated 
you.  No,  no;  I'm  goin'  to  die  and  go " 

"You're  goin'  to  have  breakfast,  that's  what  you're 
goin'  to  have.  And  it  shan't  be  warmed  up  fried  clams 
either.  Emily,  you  stay  with  him.  I'm  goin'  to  the 
kitchen." 

She  fled  to  the  kitchen,  where,  between  fits  of  crying 
and  laughing,  which  would  have  alarmed  Imogene  had 
she  been  there,  she  tried  to  prepare  a  breakfast  which 
might  tempt  the  repentant  money-lender.  Emily  joined 
her  after  a  short  interval. 

338 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"He  won't  listen  to  anything,"  said  the  young  lady. 
"He  has  been  frightened  almost  to  death,  that's  certain. 
He  is  praying  now.  I  came  away  and  left  him  praying. 
Oh,  Auntie,  isn't  it  wonderful !  Isn't  it  splendid !" 

Thankful  sighed.  "It's  so  wonderful  I  can  scarcely 
believe  it,"  she  said.  "To  think  of  his  givin'  up  money — 
givin'  it  away  of  his  own  accord !  I  said  last  night  that 
Jedediah's  comin'  home  was  a  miracle.  This  one  beats 
that  all  to  pieces.  I  don't  know  what  to  do  about  takin' 
that  thousand  from  him,"  she  added.  "I  declare  I  don't. 
'Course  I  shan't  take  it  in  the  long  run ;  I'll  pay  it  back 
soon  as  ever  I  can.  But  should  I  pretend  to  take  it 
now?  That's  what  troubles  me." 

"Of  course  you  should.  He  is  rich  and  he  doesn't 
need  it.  What  have  you  done  with  that  receipt?  Put 
it  away  somewhere  and  in  a  safe  place.  He  is  frightened ; 
that — that  something,  whatever  it  was,  last  night — 
frightened  him  so  that  he  will  give  away  anything  now. 
But,  by  and  by,  when  his  fright  is  over  he  may  change 
his  mind.  Lock  up  that  paper,  Aunt  Thankful.  If  you 
don't,  I  will." 

"But  what  was  it  that  frightened  him,  Emily?  I  de 
clare  I'm  gettin'  afraid  to  stay  in  this  house  myself. 
What  was  it  he  heard — and  we  heard?" 

"I  don't  know,  but  I  mean  to  find  out.  I'm  a  sensible 
person  this  morning,  not  an  idiot,  and  I  intend  to  lay 
that  ghost." 

When  they  went  back  into  the  dining-room  they  were 
surprised  at  what  they  saw.  Solomon  was  still  sitting 
by  the  window,  but  Georgie  was  sitting  in  a  chair  be 
side  him,  exhibiting  the  pictures  in  one  of  his  Christmas 
books  and  apparently  on  the  best  of  terms  with  his  new 
acquaintance. 

"I'm  showin'  him  my  'Swiss  Family  Robinson,'  "  said 
339 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

the  boy.     "Here's  where  they  built  a  house  in  a  tree, 
Mr.  Cobb.    Emmie  told  me  about  their  doin'  it." 

Solomon  groaned. 

"You  better  take  this  child  away  from  me,"  he  said. 
"He  came  to  me  of  his  own  accord,  but  he  hadn't  ought 
to  stay.  A  man  like  me  ain't  fit  to  have  children  around 
him." 

Thankful  had  an  inspiration. 

"It's  a  sign,"  she  cried,  clapping  her  hands.  "It's  a 
sign  sent  to  you,  Solomon.  It  means  you're  forgiven. 
That's  what  it  means.  Now  you  eat  your  breakfast." 

He  was  eating,  or  trying  to  eat,  when  someone  knocked 
at  the  door.  Winnie  S.  Holt  was  standing  on  the  step. 

"Merry  Christmas,  Mrs.  Barnes,"  he  hailed.  "Ain't 
drowned  out  after  the  gale,  be  you  ?  Judas  priest !  Our 
place  is  afloat.  Dad  says  he  cal'lates  we'll  have  to  build 
a  raft  to  get  to  the  henhouse  on.  Here ;  here's  somethin' 
Mr.  Kendrick  sent  to  you.  Wanted  me  to  give  it  to  you, 
yourself,  and  nobody  else." 

The  something  was  a  long  envelope  with  "Mrs.  Barnes, 
Personal,"  written  upon  it.  Thankful  read  the  inscrip 
tion. 

"From  Mr.  Kendrick?"  she  repeated.  "Which  Mr. 
Kendrick?" 

"Mr.  John,  the  young  one.  Mr.  Holliday's  comin', 
though.  He  telephoned  from  Bayport  this  mornin'. 
Came  down  on  the  cars  far's  there  last  night,  but  he 
didn't  dast  to  come  no  further  'count  of  bein'  afraid  to 
drive  from  the  Centre  in  the  storm.  He's  hired  an 
automobile  and  is  comin'  right  over,  he  says.  The  mes 
sage  was  for  John  Kendrick,  but  Dad  took  it.  What's 
in  the  envelope,  Mrs.  Barnes?" 

Thankful  slowly  tore  the  end  from  the  envelope. 
Emily  stood  at  her  elbow. 

340 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"What  can  it  be,  Auntie?"  she  asked,  fearfully. 

"I  don't  know.  I'm  afraid  to  look.  Oh,  dear!  It's 
somethin'  bad,  I  know.  Somethin'  to  do  with  that 
Holliday  Kendrick ;  it  must  be  or  he  wouldn't  have  come 
to  East  Wellmouth  today.  I — I — well,  I  must  look, 
of  course.  Oh,  Emily,  and  we  thought  this  was  goin' 
to  be  a  merry  Christmas,  after  all." 

The  enclosure  was  a  long,  legal-looking  document. 
Thankful  unfolded  it,  read  a  few  lines  and  then  stopped 
reading. 

"Why — why "  she  stammered. 

"What  is  it,  Auntie  ?"  pleaded  Emily. 

"It — I  can't  make  out.  I  must  be  crazy,  or — or  some 
body  is.  It  looks  like Read  it,  Emily;  read  it  out 

loud." 


CHAPTER   XVII 

CAPTAIN  OBED  BANGS  rose  at  his  usual  hour 
that  Christmas  morning,  and  the  hour  was  an 
early  one.  When  he  looked  from  his  bedroom 
window  the  clouds  were  breaking  and  a  glance  at  his 
barometer,  hung  on  the  wall  just  beside  that  window, 
showed  the  glass  to  be  rising  and  confirmed  the  promise 
of  a  fair  day.  He  dressed  and  came  downstairs. 
Hannah  Parker  came  down  soon  afterward.  The  cap 
tain  wished  her  a  merry  Christmas. 

Miss  Parker  shook  her  head;  she  seemed  to  be  in  a 
pessimistic  mood. 

"I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  Cap'n  Bangs,"  she  said, 
"and  I'm  sure  I  wish  you  the  same.  But  I  don't  know ; 
don't  seem  as  if  I  was  liable  to  have  many  more  merry 
Christmases  in  this  life.  No,  merry  Christmases  ain't 
for  me.  I'm  a  second  fiddle  nowadays  and  I  cal'late 
that's  what  I'm  foreordinated  to  be  from  now  on." 

The  captain  didn't  understand. 

"Second  fiddle,"  he  repeated.  "What  have  you  got 
to  do  with  fiddlin',  for  goodness'  sakes  ?" 

"Nothin',  of  course.  I  don't  mean  a  real  fiddle.  I 
mean  I  shan't  never  be  my  own  mistress  any  more.  I've 
been  layin'  awake  thinkin'  about  it  and  shiverin',  'twas 
so  damp  and  chilly  up  in  my  room.  There's  a  loose 
shingle  right  over  a  knot  hole  that's  abreast  a  crack  in 
my  bedroom  wall,  and  it  lets  in  the  dampness  like  a 

342 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

sieve.  I've  asked  Kenelm  to  fix  it  more  times;  but  no, 
all  he  cares  to  do  is  look  out  for  himself  and  that  inmate. 
If  she  had  a  loose  shingle  he'd  fix  it  quick  enough.  All 
I  could  do  this  mornin'  was  lay  to  bed  there  and  shiver 
and  pull  up  the  quilt  and  think  and  think.  It  kept 
comin'  over  me  more  and  more." 

"The  quilt,  you  mean?  That's  what  you  wanted  it 
to  do,  wasn't  it?" 

"Not  the  quilt.  The  thought  of  the  lonesome  old  age 
that's  comin'  to  me  when  Kenelm's  married.  I've  had 
him  to  look  after  for  so  long.  I've  been  my  own  boss, 
as  they  say." 

She  might  have  added,  "And  Kenelm's,  too,"  but  Cap 
tain  Obed  added  it  for  her,  in  his  mind.  He  laughed. 

"That's  all  right,  Hannah,"  he  observed,  by  way  of 
consolation.  "Kenelm  ain't  married  yet.  When  he  is 
you  can  help  his  wife  look  out  for  him.  Either  that 
or  get  married.  Why  don't  you  get  married,  Hannah?" 

"Humph !    Don't  be  silly,  Obed  Bangs." 

"That  ain't  silliness,  that's  sense.  All  you  need  to 
do  is  just  h'ist  the  signal,  'Consort  wanted,'  and  you'd 
have  one  alongside  in  no  time.  There's  Caleb  Hammond, 
for  instance ;  he's  a  widower  and — eh  !  look  out !" 

Miss  Parker  had  dropped  the  plate  she  was  just 
putting  down  upon  the  table.  Fortunately  it  fell  only  a 
few  inches  and  did  not  break. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  she  demanded  sharply. 

"I  meant  the  plate.  Little  more  and  you'd  have  sent 
it  to  glory." 

"Never  you  mind  the  plate.  I  can  look  out  for  my 
own  crockery.  'Twas  cracked  anyhow.  And  I  guess 
you're  cracked,  too,"  she  added.  "Talkin'  about  my — 
my  marryin'  Caleb  Hammond.  What  put  that  in  your 
head?" 

343 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"I  don't  know.    I  just " 


"Well,  don't  be  silly.  When  I  marry  Caleb  Ham 
mond,"  she  added  with  emphasis,  "  'twill  be  after  this." 

"So  I  cal'lated.  I  didn't  think  you'd  married  him 
afore  this.  There  now,  you  missed  a  chance,  Hannah. 
You  and  he  ought  to  have  got  married  that  time  when 
you  went  away  together." 

Miss  Parker  turned  pale.  "When  we  went — away — 
together!"  she  faltered.  "What  are  you  talkin'  about?" 

"When  you  went  over  to  the  Cattle  Show  that  time." 

"Is  that  what  you  meant?" 

"Sartin.  What  are  you  glarin'  at  me  that  way  for? 
You  ain't  been  away  together  any  other  time,  have  you  ? 
No,  Hannah,  that  was  your  chance.  You  and  Caleb 
might  have  been  married  in  the  balloon,  like  the  couples 
we  read  about  in  the  papers.  Ho!  ho!  Think  of  the 
advertisin'  you'd  have  had !  'A  high  church  weddin'.' 
'Bride  and  groom  up  in  the  air.'  Can't  you  see  those 
headlines?" 

Hannah  appeared  more  relieved  than  annoyed. 

"Humph !"  she  sniffed.  "Well,  I  should  say  you  was 
up  in  the  air,  Obed  Bangs.  What's  the  matter  with 
you  this  mornin'  ?  Has  the  rain  soaked  into  your  head  ? 
It  seems  to  be  softenin'  up  pretty  fast.  If  you're  so 
set  on  somebody  gettin'  married  why  don't  you  get  mar 
ried  yourself?  You've  been  what  the  minister  calls 
'unattackted'  all  your  life." 

The  minister  had  said  "unattached,"  but  Captain  Obed 
did  not  offer  to  correct  the  quotation.  He  joked  no 
more  and,  during  breakfast,  was  silent  and  absent- 
minded. 

After  breakfast  he  went  out  for  a  walk.  The  storm 
had  gullied  the  hills  and  flooded  the  hollows.  There 
were  pools  of  water  everywhere,  shining  cold  and  steely 

344 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

in  the  winter  sunshine.  The  captain  remembered  the 
low  ground  in  which  the  barn  and  outbuildings  upon 
the  "Cap'n  Abner  place"  stood,  and  judged  that  he  and 
Kenelm  might  have  to  do  some  rescue  work  among  the 
poultry  later  on.  He  went  back  to  the  house  to  sug 
gest  that  work  to  Mr.  Parker  himself. 

Kenelm  and  his  sister  were  evidently  in  the  midst  of 
a  dispute.  The  former  was  seated  at  the  breakfast 
table  and  Hannah  was  standing  by  the  kitchen  door 
looking  at  him. 

"Coin'  off  to  work  Christmas  Day!"  she  said,  as  the 
captain  entered.  "I  should  think  you  might  stay  home 
with  me  that  day,  if  no  other.  'Tain't  the  work  you're 
so  anxious  to  get  to.  It's  that  precious  inmate  of  yours." 

Kenelm's  answer  was  as  surprising  as  it  was  em 
phatic. 

"Darn  the  inmate!"  he  shouted.  "I  wish  to  thunder 
I'd  never  seen  her!" 

Captain  Obed  whistled.  Miss  Parker  staggered,  but 
she  recovered  promptly. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "that's  how  you  feel,  is  it?  Well, 
if  I  felt  that  way  toward  anybody  I  don't  think  I'd  be 
plannin'  to  marry  'em." 

"Ugh!  What's  the  use  of  talkin'  rubbish?  I've  got 
to  marry  her,  ain't  I?  She's  got  that  paper  I  was  fool 
enough  to  sign.  Oh,  let  me  alone,  Hannah !  I  won't 
go  over  there  till  I  have  to.  I'd  ruther  stay  to  home 
enough  sight." 

Hannah  put  her  arms  about  his  neck.  "There,  there, 
Kenelm,  dearie,"  she  said  soothingly,  "you  eat  your 
breakfast  like  a  nice  brother.  I'll  be  good  to  you,  if 
nobody  else  ain't.  And  I  didn't  have  to  sign  any  paper 
afore  I'd  do  it  either." 

Kenelm  grunted  ungraciously. 
345 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"  'Twas  your  fault,  anyhow,"  he  muttered.  "If  you 
hadn't  bossed  me  and  driven  me  into  workin'  for  Thank 
ful  Barnes  'twouldn't  have  happened.  I  wouldn't  have 
thought  of  gettin'  engaged  to  be  married." 

"Never  mind,  dearie.  You  ain't  married  yet.  Per 
haps  you  won't  be.  And,  anyhow,  you  know  I'll  never 
boss  you  any  more." 

Kenelm  looked  at  her.  There  was  an  odd  expression 
in  his  eyes. 

"You  bet  you  won't!"  he  said,  slowly.  "I'll  see  to 
that." 

"Why,  Kenelm,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"I  don't  mean  nothin' — maybe.  Give  me  some  more 
coffee." 

Captain  Obed  decided  that  the  present  was  not  the 
time  to  suggest  a  trip  to  the  High  Cliff  House.  He 
went  out  again,  to  walk  along  the  path  and  think  over 
what  he  had  just  heard.  It  was  interesting,  as  showing 
the  attitude  of  one  of  the  contracting  parties  toward 
the  "engagement,"  the  announcement  of  which  had  been 
such  a  staggering  finish  to  the  "big  day"  of  the  County 
Fair. 

Winnie  S.  came  whistling  up  the  path  from  the  vil 
lage. 

"Hi,  Cap'n  Bangs!"  he  shouted.  "I  was  just  goin' 
to  stop  at  Hannah's  to  tell  you  somethin'." 

"You  was,  eh?" 

"Yup.  Then  I  was  goin'  on  to  the  High  Cliff.  I've 
got  somethin'  to  take  to  Mrs.  Thankful.  What  do  you 
suppose  'tis?" 

He  exhibited  the  long  envelope. 

"John  Kendrick  sent  it  to  her,"  he  said.  "I  don't 
know  what's  in  it.  And  he  wants  you  to  come  to  his 
office  right  off,  Cap'n  Obed.  That's  what  I  was  goin' 

346 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

to  tell  you.     He  says  not  to  wait  till  afternoon,  same 
as  he  said,  but  to  come  now.    It's  important,  he  says." 

John  was  seated  at  the  desk  in  his  office  when  the 
captain  opened  the  door.  He  bowed  gravely. 

"Take  off  your  hat  and  coat,  Captain,"  he  said.  "Sit 
down.  I'm  glad  you  got  my  message  and  came  early. 
I  am  expecting  the  other  party  at  any  moment." 

Captain  Obed  was  puzzled. 

"The  other  party?"  he  repeated.    "What  other  party?" 

"My — er — well,  we'll  call  him  my  client.  He  is  on  his 
way  here  and  I  may  need  you — as  a  witness." 

"Witness?    What  to?" 

"You  will  see.  Now,  Captain,  if  you'll  excuse  me, 
I  have  some  papers  to  arrange.  Make  yourself  as  com 
fortable  as  you  can.  I'm  sure  you  won't  have  to  wait 
long." 

Fifteen  minutes  later  the  rasping,  arrogant  "honk"  of 
a  motor  horn  came  from  the  road  outside.  Heavy, 
important  steps  sounded  upon  the  office  platform.  The 
door  opened  and  in  came  Mr.  E.  Holliday  Kendrick. 

Captain  Obed  had  known  of  the  great  man's  expected 
arrival,  but  he  had  not  expected  it  so  early  in  the  day. 
E.  Holliday  wore  a  luxurious  fur-lined  coat  and  looked 
as  prosperous  and  important  as  ever,  but  also — so  it 
seemed  to  the  captain — he  looked  disturbed  and  puzzled 
and  angry. 

The  captain  rose  to  his  feet  and  said,  "Good  morning," 
but  except  for  a  nod  of  recognition,  his  greeting  was 
unanswered.  Mr.  Kendrick  slammed  the  door  behind 
him,  stalked  across  the  office,  took  a  letter  from  his 
pocket  and  threw  it  down  upon  his  attorney's  desk. 

"What's  the  meaning  of  that?"  he  demanded. 

John  was  perfectly  calm.  "Sit  down,  Mr.  Kendrick," 
he  said. 

347 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"No,  I  won't  sit  down.  What  the  devil  do  you  mean 
by  sending  me  that  thing?  You  expected  me,  didn't 
you?  You  got  my  wire  saying  I  was  coming." 

"Yes,  I  got  it.  Sit  down.  I  have  a  good  deal  to  say 
and  it  may  take  some  time.  Throw  off  your  coat." 

E.  Holliday  threw  the  fur  coat  open,  but  he  did  not 
remove  it.  He  jerked  a  chair  forward  and  seated  him 
self  upon  it. 

"Now  what  does  that  thing  mean?"  he  demanded, 
pointing  to  the  envelope  he  had  tossed  on  the  desk. 

John  picked  up  the  envelope  and  opened  it.  A  letter 
and  a  bank  check  fell  out. 

"I  will  explain,"  he  said  quietly.  "Mr.  Kendrick, 
you  know  Captain  Obed  Bangs,  I  think.  Oh,  it  is  all 
right.  The  captain  is  here  at  my  request.  I  asked  him 
to  be  here.  I  wanted  a  reliable  witness  and  he  is  re 
liable.  This,"  he  went  on,  taking  up  the  letter,  "is  a 
note  I  wrote  you,  Mr.  Kendrick.  It  states  that  I  am 
resigning  my  position  as  your  attorney.  And  this," 
picking  up  the  other  paper,  "is  my  check  for  five  hun 
dred  dollars,  the  amount  of  your  retainer,  which  I  am 
returning  to  you.  .  .  .  You  understand  this  so  far,  Cap 
tain?" 

E.  Holliday  did  not  wait  to  hear  whether  the  captain 
understood  or  not.  His  big  face  flamed  red. 

"But  what  the  devil  ?"  he  demanded. 

John  held  up  his  hand. 

"One  moment,  please,"  he  said.  "Captain  Bangs,  I 
want  to  explain  a  few  things.  As  you  know,  I  have 
been  acting  as  Mr.  Kendrick's  attorney  in  the  matter 
of  the  property  occupied  by  Mrs.  Barnes.  He  wished 
me  to  find  a  means  of  forcing  her  to  sell  that  property 
to  him.  Now,  when  a  person  owning  property  does  not 
wish  to  sell,  that  person  cannot  be  forced  into  giving 

348 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

up  the  property  unless  it  is  discovered  that  the  property' 
doesn't  belong  to  that  particular  person.  That's  plain, 
isn't  it?" 

He  was  speaking  to  Captain  Obed,  and  the  captain 
answered. 

"But  it  does  belong  to  her,"  he  declared.  "Her  Uncle 
Abner  Barnes  willed  it  to  her.  Course  it  belongs  to 
her!" 

"I  know.  But  sometimes  there  are  such  things  as 
flaws  in  a  title.  That  is  to  say,  somewhere  and  at  some 
time  there  has  been  a  transfer  of  that  property  that  was 
illegal.  In  such  a  case  the  property  belongs  to  the  pre 
vious  holder,  no  matter  in  how  many  instances  it  has 
changed  hands  since.  In  the  present  case  it  was  per 
fectly  plain  that  Mrs.  Barnes  thought  she  owned  that 
land,  having  inherited  it  from  her  uncle.  Therefore 
she  could  not  be  forced  to  sell  unless  it  was  discovered 
that  there  was  a  flaw  in  the  title — that  she  did  not  own  it 
legally  at  all.  I  told  my  client — Mr.  Kendrick,  here — 
that,  and  he  ordered  me  to  have  the  title  searched  or  to 
search  it  myself.  I  have  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  at 
the  recorder's  office  in  Ostable  doing  that  very  thing. 
And  I  discovered  that  there  was  such  a  flaw ;  that  Mrs. 
Barnes  did  not  legally  own  that  land  upon  which  her 
house  stands.  And,  as  the  land  was  not  hers,  the  house 
was  not  hers  either." 

Holliday  Kendrick  struck  the  desk  a  thump  with  his 
fist. 

"Good !"  he  cried.  "Good  enough !  I  told  'em  I  gen 
erally  got  what  I  wanted!  Now  I'll  get  it  this  time. 
Kendrick " 

"Wait,"  said  John.  "Captain  Obed,  you  understand 
me  so  far?" 

The  captain's  outraged  feelings  burst  forth. 
349 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"I  understand  it's  durn  mean  business!"  he  shouted. 
"I'm  ashamed  of  you,  John  Kendrick!" 

"All  right!  all  right!  The  shame  can  wait.  And  I 
want  you  to  wait,  too — until  I've  finished.  There  was 
a  flaw  in  that  title,  as  I  said.  Captain  Bangs,  as  you 
know,  the  house  in  which  Mrs.  Barnes  is  now  living 
originally  stood,  not  where  it  now  stands,  but  upon  land 
two  or  three  hundred  yards  to  the  north,  upon  a  portion 
of  the  property  which  afterward  became  the  Colfax 
estate  and  which  now  belongs  to  Mr.  Kendrick  here. 
You  know  that?" 

Captain  Obed  nodded.  "Course  I  know  it,"  he  said. 
"Cap'n  Abner  could  have  bought  the  house  and  the 
land  it  stood  on,  but  he  didn't  want  to.  He  liked  the 
view  better  from  where  it  stands  now.  So  he  bought 
the  strip  nigher  this  way  and  moved  the  old  house  over. 
But  he  did  buy  it  and  he  paid  cash  for  it.  I  know  he 
did,  because " 

"All  right.  7  know  he  bought  it  and  all  the  particulars 
of  the  purchase  perhaps  better  than  you  do.  A  good 
deal  of  my  time  of  late  has  been  given  to  investigating 
the  history  of  that  second  strip  of  land.  Captain  Abner 
Barnes,  Mrs.  Barnes'  uncle,  bought  the  land  upon  which 
he  contemplated  moving,  and  later,  did  move  the  house, 
of  Isaiah  Holt,  Darius  Holt's  father,  then  living.  Mr. 
Holt  bought  of  a  man  named  David  Snow,  who,  in  turn, 
bought  of " 

Holliday  Kendrick  interrupted.  "Snow  bought  of 
me,"  he  growled.  "Worse  luck!  I  was  a  fool  to  sell, 
or  so  I  think  now ;  but  it  was  years  ago ;  I  had  no  idea 
at  that  time  of  coming  here  to  live ;  and  shore  land  was 
of  no  value  then,  anyhow.  The  strip  came  to  me  as  a 
part  of  my  father's  estate.  I  thought  myself  lucky  to 
get  anything  for  it.  But  what's  all  this  ancient  history 

350 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

got  to  do  with  it  now?     And  .what  do  you  mean  by 
sending  me  this  letter  and  that  check  ?" 

"I'll  explain.  I  am  trying  to  explain.  The  peculiar 
point  comes  in  just  here.  You,  Mr.  Kendrick,  never 
owned  that  land." 

E.  Holliday  bounced  in  his  chair. 

"Didn't  own  it !"  he  roared.  "What  nonsense  are  you 
talking?  The  land  belonged  to  my  father,  Samuel  Ken 
drick,  and  I  inherited  it  from  him." 

"No,  you  didn't." 

"I  tell  you  I  did.     He  left  everything  he  had  to  me." 

"Yes,  so  he  did.  But  he  didn't  own  that  land.  He 
owned  it  at  one  time,  probably  he  owned  it  when  he 
made  his  will,  but  he  didn't  own  it  at  the  time  of  his 
death.  Your  father,  Mr.  Kendrick,  was  in  financial 
straits  at  various  times  during  his  residence  here  in 
Orham  and  he  borrowed  a  good  deal  of  money.  The 
most  of  these  were  loans,  pure  and  simple,  but  one  at 
least  wasn't.  At  one  time — needing  money  badly,  I  pre 
sume — he  sold  this  strip  of  land.  The  purchaser  thought 
it  was  worth  nothing,  no  doubt,  and  never  mentioned 
owning  it — at  least,  until  just  before  he  died.  He  simply 
had  the  deed  recorded  and  forgot  it.  Everyone  else 
forgot  it,  too.  But  the  heirs,  or  the  heir,  of  that  pur 
chaser,  I  discovered,  was  the  legal  owner  of  that  land." 

Captain  Obed  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"Why,  John  Kendrick!"  he  shouted.  "Do  you 
mean " 

"Hush,  Captain !  Mr.  Kendrick,"  addressing  the  red- 
faced  and  furious  gentleman  at  his  left,  "have  I  made 
myself  clear  so  far?  Do  you  follow  me?" 

"Follow  you?  I  don't  believe  it!  I — I — don't  be 
lieve  it!  Who  was  he?  Who  did  my  father  sell  that 
land  to?" 

351 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"He  sold  it  to  his  brother,  Bailey  Kendrick,  and  Bailey 
Kendrick  was  my  father.  Under  my  father's  will  what 
little  property  he  had  came  to  me.  If  anything  is  sure 
in  this  world,  it  is  that  that  land  occupied  by  Mrs.  Barnes 
belonged,  legally,  to  me." 

Neither  of  his  hearers  spoke  immediately.  Then  E. 
Holliday  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"It  belongs  to  you,  does  it!"  he  shouted.  "It  belongs 
to  you?  All  right,  so  much  the  better.  I  can  buy  of 
you  as  well  as  anybody  else.  That's  why  you  sent  me 
back  your  retainer,  was  it?  So  you  and  I  could  trade 
man  to  man.  All  right!  I  don't  believe  it  yet,  but  I'll 
listen  to  you.  What's  your  proposition  ?" 

John  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  said.  "You're  wrong  there.  I  sent  you  the 
retainer  because  I  wished  to  be  absolutely  free  to  do  as 
I  pleased  with  what  was  mine.  I  couldn't  remain  in 
your  employ  and  act  contrary  to  your  interests — or,  ac 
cording  to  my  way  of  thinking,  I  couldn't.  As  I  saw  it 
I  did  not  own  that  land — morally,  at  least.  So,  having 
resigned  my  employment  with  you  I — well,  I  gave  the 
land  to  the  person  who,  by  all  that  is  right  and — and 
honest,  should  own  it.  I  had  the  deed  made  out  in  her 
name  and  I  sent  it  to  her  an  hour  ago." 

Captain  Obed  had  guessed  it.  Now  he  sprang  from 
his  chair. 

"John  Kendrick,"  he  shouted,  in  huge  delight,  "you 
gave  that  land  to  Thankful  Barnes.  The  deed  was  in 
that  big  envelope  Winnie  S.  Holt  was  takin'  to  her  this 
very  mornin'!" 

The  happenings  of  the  next  few  minutes  were  noisy 
and  profane.  E.  Holliday  Kendrick  was  responsible  for 
most  of  the  noise  and  all  of  the  profanity.  He  stormed 
up  and  down  the  office,  calling  his  cousin  every  uncom- 

352 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

plimentary  name  that  occurred  to  him,  vowing  the  whole 
story  to  be  a  lie,  and  that  the  land  should  be  his  anyway ; 
threatening  suit  and  personal  vengeance.  His  last  words, 
as  he  strode  to  the  door,  were : 

"And — and  you're  the  fellow,  the  poor  relation,  that  I 
gave  my  business  to  just  from  kindness!  All  right!  I 
haven't  finished  with  you  yet." 

John's  answer  was  calm,  but  emphatic. 

"Very  well,"  he  said.  "But  this  you  must  understand: 
I  consider  myself  under  no  obligation  whatever  to  you, 
Mr.  Kendrick.  In  the  very  beginning  of  our  business 
relationship  you  and  I  had  a  plain  talk.  I  told  you 
when  I  consented  to  act  as  your  attorney  that  I  did  so 
purely  as  a  matter  of  business  and  that  philanthropy  and 
kinship  were  to  have  no  part  in  it.  And  when  you  first 
mentioned  your  intention  of  forcing  Mrs.  Barnes  to  give 
up  her  home  I  told  you  what  I  thought  of  that,  too." 

East  Wellmouth's  wealthiest  summer  resident  ex 
pressed  an  opinion. 

"You're  a  fool!"  he  snarled.  "A  d d  impractical 

fool!" 

The  door  slammed  behind  him.    John  laughed  quietly. 

"As  a  judge  of  character,  Captain  Bangs,"  he  observed, 
"my  respected  cousin  should  rank  high." 

Captain  Obed's  first  act  after  E.  Holliday's  departure 
was  to  rush  over,  seize  the  young  man's  hand  with  one 
of  his  own,  and  thump  him  enthusiastically  upon  the  back 
with  the  other. 

"I  said  it !"  he  crowed.  "I  knew  it !  I  knew  you  was 
all  right  and  square  as  a  brick  all  the  time,  John  Ken 
drick  !  Now  let  me  meet  some  of  those  folks  that  have 
been  talkin'  against  you !  You  never  did  a  better  day's 
work  in  your  life.  He's  down  on  you,  but  every  decent 
man  in  Ostable  County'll  be  for  you  through  thick  and 

353 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

thin  after  this.     Hooray  for  our  side!     John,   shake 
hands  with  me  again." 

They  shook,  heartily.  The  captain  was  so  excited  and 
jubilant  that  he  was  incoherent.  At  last,  however,  he 
managed  to  recover  sufficiently  to  ask  a  question. 

"But  how  did  you  do  it,"  he  demanded.  "How  did 
you  get  on  the  track  of  it?  You  must  have  had  some 
suspicions." 

John  smiled.  His  friend's  joy  evidently  pleased  him, 
but  he,  himself,  was  rather  sober  and  not  in  the  least 
triumphant. 

"I  did  have  a  suspicion,  Captain,"  he  said.  "In  fact, 
I  had  been  told  that  I  had  a  claim  to  a  piece  of  land 
somewhere  along  the  shore  here  in  East  Wellmouth. 
My  father  told  me  years  ago,  when  he  was  in  his  last 
sickness.  He  said  that  he  owned  a  strip  of  land  here, 
but  that  it  was  probably  worth  little  or  nothing.  When 
I  came  here  I  intended  looking  into  the  matter,  but 
I  did  not  do  so.  Where  the  original  deed  may  be,  I  don't 
know  even  now.  It  may  be  among  some  of  my  father's 
paper-s,  which  are  stored  in  New  York.  But  the  record 
of  the  transfers  I  found  in  Ostable ;  and  that  is  sufficient. 
My  claim  may  not  be  quite  as  impregnable  as  I  gave 
my  late  client  to  understand,  but  it  will  be  hard  to  upset. 
I  am  the  only  possible  claimant  and  I  have  transferred 
my  claim  to  Mrs.  Barnes.  The  land  belongs  to  her  now ; 
she  can't  be  dispossessed." 

"But — but,  John,  why  didn't  you  say  so  sooner  ?  What 
made  you  let  everyone  think — what  they  did  think  ?" 

Before  John  could  reply  there  came  an  interruption. 
The  door  opened  and  Thankful  Barnes  entered.  She 
paid  no  attention  to  Captain  Obed,  but,  walking  straight 
to  the  desk,  laid  upon  it  the  long  envelope  which  Winnie 
S.  had  brought  to  her  house  that  morning. 

354 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Will  you  tell  me,"  she  asked,  sharply,  "what  that 
means  ?" 

John  rose.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "I  will  tell  you,  Mrs. 
Barnes.  It  is  a  rather  long  story.  Sit  down,  please." 

Thankful  sank  into  the  chair  he  indicated.  He  took 
up  the  envelope. 

"I  will  tell  you,  Mrs.  Barnes,"  he  said,  "why  I  sent 
you  this  deed.  Don't  go,  Captain  Bangs,  you  know  al 
ready  and  I  should  like  to  have  you  stay.  Here  is  the 
story,  Mrs.  Barnes." 

He  told  it  briefly,  without  superfluous  words,  but  so 
clearly  that  there  could  be  no  possibility  of  a  misunder 
standing.  When  he  began  Thank ful's  attitude  was  cold 
and  unbelieving.  When  he  finished  she  was  white  and 
trembling. 

"Mrs.  Barnes,"  he  said,  in  conclusion,  "I'm  a  peculiar 
fellow,  I'm  afraid.  I  have  rather — well,  suppose  we  call 
them  impractical  ideas  concerning  the  ethics  of  my  pro 
fession,  duty  to  a  client,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  I  have 
always  been  particular  in  taking  a  case,  but  when  I  have 
taken  it  I  have  tried  to  carry  it  through.  I — as  you 
know,  I  hesitated  before  accepting  my  cousin's  retaining 
fee  and  the  implied  obligation.  However,  I  did  accept." 

He  might  have  given  his  reasons  for  accepting  but  he 
did  not.  He  went  on. 

"When  this  matter  of  your  property  came  up,"  he 
said,  "I  at  first  had  no  idea  that  the  thing  was  serious. 
You  owned  the  property,  as  I  supposed,  and  that  was 
sufficient.  I  had  told  my  cousin  that  and  meant  to  tell 
you.  I  meant  to  tell  you  a  portion  of  what  I  have  just 
told  the  captain  here,  but  I — well,  I  didn't.  Mr.  Daniels' 
remarks  irritated  me  and  I — well,  he  put  the  case  as  a 
test  of  legal  skill  between  himself  and  me,  and — and  I 
have  my  share  of  pride,  I  suppose.  So  I  determined  to 

355 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

beat  him  if  I  could.  It  was  wrong,  as  I  see  it  now,  and 
I  beg  your  pardon." 

Thankful  put  a  hand  to  her  forehead. 

"But  you  did — beat  him,  didn't  you?"  she  stammered. 
"You  found  I  didn't  own  the  land." 

"Yes.  I  found  I  owned  it  myself,  legally.  If  I  had 
found  it  belonged  to  anyone  else,  I — well,  I  scarcely  know 
what  I  should  have  done.  You  see,"  with  a  half  smile, 
"I'm  trying  to  be  perfectly  frank.  Finding  that  I  was  the 
owner  made  it  easy." 

She  did  not  understand.  "It  made  it  easy,"  she  re 
peated  slowly.  "But  you  gave  it  to  me!" 

He  leaned  forward.  "Please  don't  misunderstand  me," 
he  said  earnestly.  "As  I  see  it,  that  land  belonged  to 
you  by  all  that  is  right  and  fair.  Legally,  perhaps,  it 
didn't,  but  legal  honesty  isn't  always  moral  honesty. 
I've  found  that  out  even  in  my  limited  practice." 

Captain  Obed  tried  to  put  in  a  word.  "Don't  you  see, 
Thankful  ?"  he  said.  "John  knew  you  thought  you  owned 
the  land  and  so " 

"Hush!  Please  don't.  I— I  don't  see.  Mr.  Ken- 
drick,  you — you  have  prided  yourself  on  bein'  honest 
with  your  clients,  and  Mr.  Holliday  Kendrick  was  your 
client." 

John  smiled.  "I  compromised  there,"  he  answered.  "I 
returned  his  money  and  resigned  as  his  attorney  before 
I  sent  you  the  deed.  It  was  a  compromise,  I  admit,  but 
I  had  to  choose  between  him  and — well,  my  honor,  if  you 
like ;  although  that  sounds  theatrical.  I  chose  to  be  honest 
with  myself — that's  all.  The  land  is  yours,  Mrs. 
Barnes." 

He  handed  her  the  envelope  containing  the  deed.  She 
took  it  and  sat  there  turning  it  over  and  over  in  her  fin 
gers,  not  looking  at  it,  but  thinking,  or  trying  to  think, 

356 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"You  give  it  to  me,"  she  said.  "It  was  yours  and  you 
give  it  to  me.  Why  should  you?  Do — do  you  think  I 
can  take  it  from  you?" 

"Certainly,  you  must  take  it." 

"But  I  can't!     I  can't!" 

"Certainly  you  can.    Why  not?" 

"Why  not?  After  the  things  I've  thought  about  you? 
And  after  the  way  I've  treated  you?  And — and  after 
Emily " 

"She  didn't  know  either,"  broke  in  Captain  Obed. 
"She  didn't  understand.  She " 

"That's  enough,  Captain,"  interrupted  John.  "Mrs. 
Barnes,  you  mustn't  misunderstand  me  again.  Neither 
you  nor — nor  Miss  Howes  must  misunderstand  my  mo 
tives.  I  give  this  to  you  because  I  honestly  believe  it 
belongs  to  you,  not  because  I  expect  anything  in  return. 
I — I  confess  I  did  hesitate  a  little.  I  feared — I  feared 
she " 

"He  means  Emily,"  broke  in  the  irrepressible  cap 
tain.  "You  mean  Emily,  don't  you,  John?" 

"Yes,"  with  some  embarrassment.  "Yes,  I  do  mean 
Miss  Howes.  She  and  I  had  been — friends,  and  I  feared 
she  might  misinterpret  my  reasons.  It  was  not  until 
yesterday  afternoon,  when  I  learned  of  the — of  the  en 
gagement,  that  I  felt  certain  neither  you  nor  she  could 
misunderstand.  Then  I  felt  perfectly  free  to  send  you 
the  deed." 

Captain  Obed,  who  had  grasped  his  meaning,  would 
have  spoken,  but  Thankful  spoke  first.  She,  evidently, 
was  quite  at  sea. 

"The  engagement?"  she  repeated.  "What  engage 
ment?" 

"Miss  Howes'  engagement  to  Mr.  Daniels.  They  were 
congratulating  him  on  his  engagement  yesterday  at  the 

357 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

station.  I  overheard  the  congratulations.  I  had  not 
known  of  it  before." 

At  last  Thankful  understood.  She  looked  at  the 
speaker,  then  at  Captain  Obed,  and  the  color  rushed  to 
her  face. 

"And  even  though  Emily — Hush,  Obed  Bangs!  you 
keep  still — and  even  though  you  knew  Emily  was  en 
gaged  to  Heman  Daniels,  you  could  still  give  me  and 
her— this  ?" 

"Now,  Mrs.  Barnes,  do  you  think " 

"Think !  John  Kendrick,  I  think  I  ought  to  get  down 
on  my  knees  and  beg  your  pardon  for  what  I've  thought 
these  last  two  months.  But  I'm  thinkin'  right  now  and 
you  ain't.  Heman  Daniels  ain't  engaged  to  Emily 
Howes  at  all;  he's  engaged  to  that  Bayport  woman,  the 
one  he's  been  so  attentive  to  for  a  year  or  more.  Oh, 
it's  true!  Winnie  S.  told  me  so  just  now.  The  news 
had  just  come  to  town  and  he  was  full  of  it.  Heman's 
over  to  Bayport  spendin'  Christmas  with  her  this  very 
minute." 

Even  Captain  Obed  had  not  a  word  to  say.  He  was 
looking  at  John  Kendrick  and  John's  face  was  white. 

"And  I'll  tell  you  somethin'  else,"  went  on  Thankful, 
"somethin'  that  Emily  herself  told  me  last  night.  She 
might  have  been  engaged  to  Heman  Daniels;  he  asked 
her  to  be.  But  she  wouldn't  have  him ;  she  told  him  no." 

John  stepped  from  behind  the  desk.  "She — she  told 
him  no,"  he  repeated.  "She  .  .  .  Why?" 

Thankful  laughed  aloud.  "That,"  she  cried,  "I  shan't 
tell  you.  If  you  don't  know  yourself  then  I  ain't  the  one 
to  tell  you." 

Obed  was  at  her  side.  "That's  enough,"  he  ordered, 
taking  her  by  the  arm.  "That's  enough,  Thankful  Barnes. 
You  come  right  along  with  me  and  fetch  that  deed  with 

358 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

you.  This  young  feller  here  has  got  some  thinkin'  to  do, 
I  cal'late.  His  mind  needs  overhaulin'.  You  come  with 
me." 

He  led  her  out  to  the  sidewalk  and  on  until  they 
reached  the  postoffice.  Then,  still  grasping  her  arm, 
he  led  her  into  that  building.  The  office  was  open  for 
a  few  hours,  even  though  the  day  was  Christmas. 

"Here!"  he  whispered,  eagerly.  "Stand  here  by  the 
window  where  we  can  see  whether  he  comes  out  or 
not." 

"But,  Obed,  what  are  you  doin'?" 

"Doin' !  I'm  waitin'  to  see  whether  that  boy  is  a  per 
manent  fool  or  just  a  temporary  one.  Wait  now;  wait 
and  watch." 

The  wait  was  but  momentary.  The  door  of  John  Keri- 
drick's  office  opened  and  John  himself  came  out.  He 
shut  the  door,  but  he  did  not  wait  to  lock  it.  They  saw 
him  cross  the  road  and  stride  off  down  the  lane  toward 
the  shore. 

Captain  Obed  laughed  aloud. 

"No,"  he  cried,  exultantly,  "  'twas  only  temporary. 
He's  got  his  senses  now.  Thankful,  let's  you  and  me  go 
for  a  walk.  We  shan't  be  needed  at  the  High  Cliff  House 
for  a  spell — and  we  won't  be  wanted  there,  either." 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

THE  walk  was  a  long  one.  It  took  them  a  good  way 
from  the  more  populous  section  of  East  Well- 
mouth,  over  the  hills  and,  at  last,  along  the 
beach  at  the  foot  of  the  bluff.  It  was  an  odd  season  of 
the  year  for  a  stroll  by  the  seaside,  but  neither  Thankful 
nor  the  captain  cared  for  that.  In  fact  it  is  doubtful  if 
either  could  have  told  afterward  just  where  they  had 
been.  There  were  so  many  and  such  wonderful  things 
to  tell,  to  speculate  upon,  and  to  discuss. 

Thankful  told  of  her  brother's  return,  of  Mr.  Cobb's 
miraculous  generosity,  and,  for  the  first  time,  of  the 
ghostly  haunting  of  the  little  back  bedroom.  In  the 
latter  story  Captain  Obed  seemed  to  find  much  amuse 
ment.  He  was  skeptical. 

"I've  heard  of  a  good  many  ghosts  in  my  time,"  he 
said,  "but  I  never  heard  of  one  that  could  stand  daylight 
or  common-sense.  The  idea  of  your  bein'  troubled  all 
this  time  "by  that  snorin'  business  or  whatever  'tis.  Why 
didn't  you  tell  me  about  it?  I'd  have  had  that  spook  out 
of  that  bedroom  afore  this,  I  bet  you." 

"It  seemed  so  silly,"  confessed  Thankful,  "that  I  was 
ashamed  to  tell  anybody.  But  there's  somethin'  there. 
I  heard  it  the  first  night  I  came,  and  Rebecca  Timpson 
heard  it  later  on,  and  then  Emily  and  I  and  Solomon 
heard  it  all  together." 

"Yes.  Well,  then,  let's  see  when  you  heard  it.  Every 
360 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

time  'twas  when  there  was  a  storm;  rain  and  wind  and 
the  like  of  that,  eh  ?" 

"Yes.  I've  slept  in  that  room  myself  a  good  many 
times,  but  never  when  there  was  a  gale  of  wind  or  rain. 
That's  so ;  'twas  always  in  a  storm  that  it  came." 

"Um-hum.  And  it  always  snored.  Ho !  ho !  that  is 
funny !  A  ghost  with  a  snore.  Must  have  a  cold  in  its 
head,  I  cal'late." 

"You  wouldn't  laugh  if  you'd  heard  it  last  night.  And 
it  didn't  snore  the  first  time.  It  said  'Oh,  Lord,'  then." 

"Humph !  so  you  said.  Well,  that  does  complicate 
things,  I  will  give  in.  The  wind  in  a  water-pipe  might 
snore,  but  it  couldn't  say  'Oh,  Lord!'  not  very  plain. 
You  heard  that  the  first  night,  afore  Kenelm  and  I  got 
there." 

"Yes.  And  there  wasn't  another  person  in  that  house 
except  Emily  and  me;  I  know  that." 

"I  wonder  if  you  do  know  it.  ...  Well,  I'll  have  a 
whack  at  that  room  myself  and  if  a  spook  starts  snorin' 
when  I'm  there  I'll — I'll  put  a  clothespin  on  its  nose, 
after  I've  thanked  it  for  scarin'  old  Sol  into  repentance 
and  decency.  It  took  a  spirit  to  do  that.  No  livin' 
human  could  have  worked  that  miracle." 

"I  agree  with  you.  Well,  now  I  know  why  he  acted 
the  way  he  did  whenever  Uncle  Abner's  name  was  men 
tioned.  I  have  a  feelin' — at  least  I  imagine  there  may 
have  been  somethin'  else,  somethin'  we  don't  know  and 
never  will  know,  between  Solomon  and  my  uncle.  There 
may  be  some  paper,  some  agreement,  hid  around  some- 
wheres  that  is  legally  bindin'  on  the  old  sinner.  I  can't 
hardly  believe  just  breakin'  a  promise  would  make  him 
give  anybody  fifteen  hundred  dollars." 

"Maybe,  but  I  don't  know ;  he's  always  been  supersti 
tious  and  a  great  feller  for  Spiritu'list  camp-meetin's  and 

361 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

so  on.  And  he  was  always  regular  at  prayer-meetin'. 
Sometimes  that  sort  of  a  swab,  knowin'  how  mean  he 
actually  is,  tries  to  square  his  meanness  with  the  Al 
mighty  by  bein'  prominent  in  the  church.  There  may  be 
the  kind  of  paper  you  say,  but  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
'twas  just  scare  and  a  bad  conscience." 

"Well,  I'm  grateful  to  him,  anyhow.  And,  as  for 
John's  kindness,  I — I  don't  know  what  to  say.  Last 
night  I  thought  this  might  be  the  blackest  Christmas  ever 
I  had ;  but  now  it  looks  as  if  it  might  be  one  of  the 
brightest.  And  it's  all  so  strange,  so  strange  it  should 
have  come  on  Christmas.  It  seems  as  if  the  Lord  had 
planned  it  so." 

"Maybe  He  did.  But  it  ain't  so  strange  when  you 
come  to  think  of  it.  Your  brother  came  home  on  Christ 
mas  Eve  because  he  thought — or  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he 
did — that  you'd  be  more  likely  to  forgive  him  and  take 
him  in  then.  Solomon  came  over  when  he  did  on  ac 
count  of  his  hearin'  that  Holliday  Kendrick  was  comin'. 
All  days,  Christmas  or  any  other,  are  alike  to  Sol  when 
there's  a  dollar  to  be  sighted  with  a  spyglass.  And  as 
for  John's  givin'  you  the  deed  today,  I  presume  likely 
that  was  a  sort  of  Christmas  present ;  probably  he  meant 
to  give  it  to  you  for  that.  So  the  Christmas  part  ain't 
so  wonderful,  after  all." 

"Yes,  it  is.  It's  all  wonderful.  I  ought  to  be  a  very, 
very  happy  woman.  If  John  and  Emily  only  come  to 
gether  again  I  shall  be,  sure  and  sartin'.  Of  course, 
though,"  she  added,  with  emphasis,  "I  shan't  let  him 
give  me  that  land.  I'll  make  some  arrangement  to  pay 
him  for  it,  a  little  at  a  time,  if  no  other  way." 

The  captain  opened  his  mouth  to  protest,  but  there 
was  an  air  of  finality  in  Thankful's  tone  which  caused 
him  to  defer  the  protest  until  another  time. 

362 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"Well — well,  all  right,"  he  said.  "That  can  be  talked 
about  later  on.  But  how  about  yourself?  I  suppose 
you'll  keep  right  on  with  the  boardin'-house  now?" 

"Of  course." 

"It'll  be  pretty  hard  work  for  you  alone,  won't  it? 
Especially  if  Emily  and  John  should  take  a  notion  to 
get  married." 

"Oh,  well!  I'm  used  to  bein'  alone.  I  shan't  mind — 
much.  Why!  here  we  are  right  at  the  foot  of  our  path. 
I've  been  talkin'  so  fast  I  didn't  realize  we'd  got  here 
already.  Do  you  suppose  it's  safe  to  go  up  to  the  house 
now,  Obed?" 

"I  guess  so.  We  can  go  in  the  kitchen  way  and  I'll 
make  noise  enough  to  warn  all  hands  that  we're  comin'. 
Who's  that  by  the  back  door ;  John,  ain't  it  ?  No,  it  ain't ; 
it's  Kenelm." 

Kenelm  and  Imogene  were  standing  at  the  kitchen 
door.  When  the  captain  and  Mrs.  Barnes  drew  near 
they  saw  that  they  were  in  danger  of  interrupting  what 
seemed  to  be  a  serious  conversation.  Neither  of  the 
parties  to  that  conversation  noticed  them  until  they  were 
close  at  hand.  Imogene  had  a  slip  of  paper  in  her  hand. 

Captain  Obed,  whose  mind  was  occupied  with  but  one 
thought  just  then,  asked  a  question. 

"Imogene,"  he  asked  in  a  loud  whisper,  "where's  Miss 
Emily?" 

Imogene  started  and  turned.  Kenelm  also  started.  He 
looked  embarrassed. 

"Eh!"  cried  Imogene.  "Oh,  it's  you,  Mrs.  Thankful. 
I  was  wonderin'  where  you  was.  I've  been  havin'  a  little 
talk  with  Kenelm  here.  It's  all  right,  Mrs.  Thankful." 

"What's  all  right?"  asked  Thankful. 

"About  your  brother  workin'  here  in  Kenelm's  place. 
He  don't  mind.  You  don't,  do  you,  Kenelm?" 

363 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Mr.  Parker,  who  had  been  standing  upon  one  foot 
and  pawing  like  a  restless  horse  with  the  other,  shifted 
his  position. 

"No-o,"  he  drawled.    "I— I  don't  know's  I  do." 

Thankful  was  disturbed.  "I'm  sorry  you  said  anything 
yet  awhile,  Imogene,"  she  said.  "My  plans  about  Jede- 
diah  are  hardly  made  yet.  I  do  hate  to  make  you  lose 
your  place,  Kenelm.  If  I  could  see  my  way  clear  to 
keepin'  two  men  I'd  do  it,  but  I  declare  I  can't  see  it." 

"That's  all  right,  ma'am,"  said  Kenelm.  "I  ain't  par- 
tic'lar." 

"He  don't  mind  a  bit,  Mrs.  Thankful,"  put  in  Imogene. 
"Honest,  he  don't.  He  don't  have  to  work  unless  he's 
obliged  to — not  much  anyhow.  Kenelm's  got  money,  you 
know." 

"I  know;  at  least  I've  heard  he  had  some  money.  But 
'tain't  because  he  needs  the  money  that  I  feel  bad;  it's 
because  of  his  engagement  to  you,  Imogene.  I  suppose 
you're  plannin'  to  be  married  some  time  or  other 
and " 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  too,"  interrupted  Imogene  eagerly. 
"You  needn't  worry  about  our  engagement.  She  needn't 
worry  about  that,  need  she,  Kenelm?" 

"No,"  said  Kenelm  shortly. 

Captain  Obed  thought  it  time  to  repeat  his  first  ques 
tion. 

"Where's  Miss  Emily?"  he  asked. 

"She's  in  the  livin'-room." 

"Is — is  anybody  with  her?" 

Imogene  nodded.  "Um-hum,"  she  said  gleefully,  "he's 
there,  too." 

"Who?"  The  captain  and  Thankful  spoke  in  con 
cert. 

"Mr.  John  Kendrick.  I  let  him  in  and  I  didn't  tell  her 
364 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

who  it  was  at  all.  She  didn't  know  till  she  went  in  her 
self  and  found  him.  Then  I  came  right  out  and  shut  the 
door.  Oh,"  with  another  nod,  "I've  got  some  sense,  even 
if  I  did  come  from  the  Orphans'  Home." 

Captain  Obed  and  Thankful  looked  at  each  other. 

"Then  he  did  come  here,"  exclaimed  Thankful. 

"Course  he  did.  I  told  you  he  wa'n't  quite  a  fool. 
Been  there  some  time,  has  he?" 

"Yes.    Shall  I  tell  'em  you've  come?    I'll  knock  first." 

"No,  no."  Thankful's  reply  was  emphatic.  "Where's 
the  rest  of  the  folks?"  she  asked. 

"Georgie  and  Mr.  Cahoon — your  brother,  I  mean — 
have  gone  up  to  the  village  with  the  other  one,  the  Cobb 
man." 

"What  have  they  gone  to  the  village  for  ?" 

"To  help  Mr.  Cobb  get  his  horse  and  team  at  Chris 
Badger's.  He's  gone,  you  know." 

"Who's  gone?" 

"Why,  the  Cobb  one.  He's  gone  home  again.  I  tried 
to  get  him  to  stay  for  dinner;  so  did  Miss  Emily.  We 
knew  you'd  want  him  to.  But  he  wouldn't  stay.  Said 
he  was  goin'  home.  Seemed  to  me  he  wanted  to  get  out 
of  the  house  quick  as  ever  he  could.  He  gave  Georgie 
a  dollar  for  Christmas." 

"What!"  Captain  Obed  leaned  against  the  corner  of 
the  house.  "A  dollar!"  he  groaned.  "Sol  Cobb  gave 
somebody  a  dollar  for  Christmas !  Don't  pinch  me,  any 
body  ;  I  don't  want  to  wake  up.  Let  me  enjoy  my  dream 
long  as  I  can.  Thankful,  did  you  say  Sol  looked  sick?" 

"I  said  he  looked  pretty  nearly  sick  when  he  came 
down  this  mornin'." 

"I  believe  it.  It  must  have  been  a  mighty  serious  at 
tack.  Did  Georgie  take  the  dollar  with  him?" 

"No.    He  left  it  with  Miss  Emily." 
365 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"That's  a  mercy.  The  outdoor  air  may  make  Sol  feel 
more  rational  and  soon's  he  came  to  his  senses,  he'd 
want  that  dollar  back.  Tut !  tut !  tut !  Don't  talk  to  me! 
I  shall  believe  in  ghosts  pretty  soon." 

Thankful  looked  troubled  and  annoyed. 

"I'm  awful  sorry  he  went,"  she  said.  "The  poor  old 
thing !  He  was  so  miserable  I  did  pity  him.  I  must  drive 
over  and  see  him  tomorrow,  sure.  But  what  makes  me 
feel  the  worst,"  she  added,  "is  to  think  of  Jedediah's 
cruisin'  up  to  the  village  dressed  in  the  rags  he  was 
wearin'.  He  looked  like — like  somethin'  the  cat  brought 
in.  And  everybody'll  want  to  know  who  he  is ;  and  when 
they  find  he's  my  brother !  And  on  Christmas  Day,  too !" 

"Imogene!"  it  was  Emily's  voice.  "Imogene,  where 
are  you?" 

Captain  Obed  roared  a  greeting. 

"Merry  Christmas,  all  hands,"  he  shouted.  "Hey,  you, 
John  Kendrick;  are  you  there?" 

There  was  no  answer.  Thankful  did  not  wait  for  one  ; 
she  rushed  into  the  house.  John  Kendrick  was  alone  in 
the  living-room  when  she  reached  it.  Emily  had  fled. 
Thankful  looked  at  Mr.  Kendrick  and  the  look  gave  her 
the  information  she  wanted. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Kendrick— John,"  she  cried.  "I  shall  call 
you  John  now ;  I  can,  can't  I — where  is  she  ?" 

John  smiled.  He  looked  ready  to  smile  at  all  creation. 
"I  think  she  is  upstairs,"  he  said.  "At  least  she  ran  in 
that  direction  when  she  heard  the  captain  call." 

Thankful  started  for  the  hall  and  the  stairs.  At  the 
door  she  turned. 

"Don't  you  go  away,  John,"  she  ordered.  "Don't  you 
dare  go  away  from  this  house.  You're  goin'  to  have  din 
ner  here  this  day,  if  you  never  do  again." 

John,  apparently,  had  no  intention  of  going  away 
366 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

He  smiled  once  more  and  walked  toward  the  dining-room. 
Captain  Obed  met  him  at  the  threshold. 

"Well?"  shouted  the  captain.  "Well?  What  have 
you  got  to  say  for  yourself  now,  eh  ?" 

John  laughed.  "Not  much,  Captain,"  he  answered, 
"not  much,  except  that  I've  been  an  idiot." 

"Yup.  All  right.  But  that  ain't  what  I  want  to  know. 

I  want  to  know "  he  stopped  and  gazed  keenly  at  his 

friend's  face.  "I  don't  know's  I  do  want  to  know,  either," 
he  added.  "I  cal'late  I  know  it  already.  When  a  young 
feller  stands  around  looking  as  sheepish  as  if  he'd  been 
caught  stealin'  hens'  eggs  and  grinnin'  at  the  same  time 
as  if  he  was  proud  of  it,  then — then  there's  just  one  thing 
happened  to  him.  I  cal'late  you've  found  out  why  she 
wouldn't  marry  Heman  Daniels,  eh  ?  My,  but  I'm  glad ! 
You  don't  deserve  it,  but  I'm  glad  just  the  same.  Let's 
shake  hands  again." 

They  were  still  shaking  and  the  captain  was  crowing 
like  a  triumphant  rooster  over  his  friend's  good  fortune 
and  the  humiliation  in  store  for  the  "tattle-tales  and  char 
acter-naggers"  among  his  fellow-townsmen  when  Imo- 
gene  appeared. 

"Is  Mrs.  Thankful  here?"  she  asked.  "Well,  never 
mind.  You'll  do,  Cap'n  Bangs.  Will  you  and  Mr.  Ken- 
drick  come  out  here  to  the  back  door  a  minute  ?  I'd  like 
to  have  you  witness  somethin'." 

Captain  Obed's  forehead  wrinkled  in  surprise. 

"Witness  somethin'?"  he  repeated.  Then,  with  a 
glance  at  John,  who  was  as  puzzled  as  he,  "Humph!  I 
witnessed  somethin'  this  mornin'  and  now  I'm  to  witness 
somethin'  else.  I'll  begin  to  be  an  expert  pretty  soon, 
won't  I?  Humph!  What — well,  heave  ahead,  Imogene. 
I'll  come." 

Imogene  conducted  them  to  the  kitchen  door  where 
367 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Mr.  Parker  still  stood,  looking  remarkably  foolish.  Imo- 
gene's  manner,  however,  was  very  business-like. 

"Now  then,"  she  said,  addressing  the  two  "witnesses," 
"you  see  this  piece  of  paper.  Perhaps  you'd  better  read 
it  first." 

She  handed  the  paper  to  Captain  Obed,  who  looked  at 
it  and  passed  it  over  to  John.  It  was  the  statement, 
signed  by  Kenelm,  in  which  he  agreed  to  marry  Imogene 
whenever  she  asked  him  to  do  so. 

"You  see  what  'tis,  don't  you  ?"  asked  Imogene.  "Yes, 
Well,  now  you  watch  and  see  what  I  do  with  it." 

She  tore  the  agreement  into  small  pieces.  Stepping 
into  the  kitchen  she  put  the  pieces  in  the  stove. 

"There !"  she  exclaimed,  returning  to  the  door.  "That 
ends  that.  He  and  I,"  pointing  to  Kenelm,  "ain't  en 
gaged  any  longer,  and  he  don't  have  to  work  here  any 
longer.  Is  it  all  plain  to  both  of  you?" 

It  was  not  altogether  plain  even  yet.  The  expression 
on  the  faces  of  the  witnesses  proved  that. 

"Now,  Kenelm,"  said  Imogene  cheerfully,  "you  can 
leave  if  you  want  to.  And,"  with  a  mischievous  chuckle, 
"when  you  get  there  you  can  give  your  sister  my  love, 
the  inmate's  love,  you  know.  Lordy!  Won't  she  enjoy 
gettin'  it!" 

When  Kenelm  had  gone,  which  he  did  immediately  and 
without  a  word,  Imogene  vouchsafed  an  explanation. 

"I  never  did  want  to  marry  him,"  she  said.  "When 
I  get  ready  to  marry  anybody  it'll  be  somebody  with 
more  get-up-and-git  than  he's  got,  I  hope.  But  I  was 
ready  to  do  anything  to  help  Mrs.  Thankful  from  frettin' 
and  when  he  talked  about  quittin'  his  job  right  in  the  busy 
season  I  had  to  keep  him  here  somehow,  I  just  had  to. 
He  was  kind  of — of  mushy  and  soft  about  me  first  along 
—I  guess  guys  of  his  kind  are  likely  to  be  about  any 

368 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

woman  that'll  listen  to  'em — and  when  his  sister  got  jeal 
ous  and  put  him  up  to  leavin'  I  thought  up  my  plan.  I 
got  him  to  ask  me — he'd  as  much  as  asked  me  afore — 
and  then  I  made  him  sign  that  paper.  Ugh !  the  silliness 
I  had  to  go  through  afore  he  would  sign  it!  Don't  ask 
me  about  it  or  I  shan't  eat  any  dinner.  But  he  did  sign 
it  and  I  knew  I  had  him  under  my  thumb.  He's  scared 
of  that  sister  of  his,  but  he's  more  scared  of  losin'  his 
money.  And  she's  just  as  scared  of  that  as  he  is.  They 
didn't  want  any  breachin'  of  promises — No  sir-ee!  Ho! 
ho!" 

She  stopped  to  laugh  in  gleeful  triumph.  John  laughed 
too.  Captain  Obed  scratched  his  head. 

"But,  hold  on  there ;  heave  to,  Imogene !"  he  ordered. 
"I  don't  seem  to  get  the  whole  of  this  yet.  You  did 
agree  to  marry  him.  Suppose  he'd  said  you'd  got  to 
marry  him,  what  then?" 

"He  wouldn't.  He  didn't  want  to  marry  me — not 
after  I'd  took  my  time  at  bossin'  him  around  a  while. 
And  if  he  had — well,  if  he  had,  and  I'd  had  to  do  it,  I 
would,  I  suppose.  I'd  do  anything  for  Mrs.  Thankful, 
after  what's  she's  done  for  me.  Miss  Emily  and  me 
had  a  talk  about  self-sacrifice  and  I  see  my  duty  plain. 
I  told  Miss  Emily  why  I  did  it  that  night  when  you  all 
came  home  from  the  Fair.  She  understood  the  whole 
thing." 

The  captain  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"Ho!  ho!"  he  shouted.  "Well,  Imogene,  I  said  you 
beat  all  my  goin'  to  sea,  and  you  do — you  sartin  do. 
Now,  I'd  like  to  be  on  hand  and  see  how  Hannah  takes 
it.  If  I  know  her,  now  that  that  engagement  ain't  hangin' 
over  her,  she'll  even  up  with  her  brother  for  all  she's 
had  to  put  up  with.  Ho!  ho!  Poor  old  Kenelm's  in 
for  a  warm  Christmas." 

369 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

And  yet  Kenelm's  Christmas  was  not  so  "warm"  after 
all.  He  told  Hannah  of  his  broken  engagement,  wasting 
no  words — which,  for  him,  was  very  remarkable — and 
expressing  no  regret  whatever.  Hannah  listened,  at  first 
with  joy,  and  then,  when  Imogene's  "love"  was  con 
veyed  to  her,  with  growing  anger. 

"The  idea !"  she  cried.  "And  you  bring  me  over  a  mes 
sage  like  that.  From  her — from  an  Orphans'  Home  in 
mate  to  your  own  sister !  And  you  let  her  walk  over  you, 
chuck  you  out  as  if  you  was  a  wornout  doormat  she'd 
wiped  her  boots  on,  and  never  said  a  word.  Well,  I'll 
say  it  for  you.  I'll  tell  her  what  I  think  of  her.  And 
she  was  cal'latin'  to  sue  you  for  breaches  of  promise,  was 
she  ?  Humph !  Two  can  play  at  that  game.  I  don't 
know's  I  shan't  have  you  sue  her." 

"I  don't  want  to.  I  told  you  this  mornin'  I  didn't 
care  nothin'  about  marryin'  her.  And  you  didn't  want 
me  to  yourself.  Now  that  it's  all  over  you  ought  to  be 
happy,  I  should  think.  I  don't  see  what  you're  growlin' 
about." 

"No,  I  suppose  you  don't.  You — you,"  with  withering 
contempt,  "you  haven't  got  the  self-respect  of — of  a 
woodtick.  I'm — I  declare  I'm  perfectly  prospected  with 
shame  at  havin'  such  a  brother  in  my  family.  And 
after  cruisin'  around  with  her  and  takin'  her  to  the 
Cattle  Show— 

"You  went  to  the  Cattle  Show  yourself." 

"I  don't  care  if  I  did.  Now  you  march  yourself  up 
stairs  and  change  your  clothes." 

"Aw,  now,  Hannah.    These  clothes  are  good  enough." 

"Good  enough!  For  Christmas  Day!  I  should  think 
you'd  be  ashamed.  Oh,  you  maks  me  so  provoked!  If 
folks  knew  what  /  know  about  you " 

Kenelm  interrupted,  a  most  unusual  thing  for  him, 

370 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"S'posin'  they  knew  what  I  know  about  you,"  he 
observed. 

"What?  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  What  have  / 
done  to  be  ashamed  of?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  don't  know  what  you  did.  I  don't 
even  know  where  you  went.  But  when  a  person  crawls 
down  a  ladder  in  the  middle  of  the  night  and  goes  off 
somewhere  with — with  somebody  else  and  don't  get  home 
until  'most  mornin',  then — well,  then  I  cal'late  folks 
might  be  interested  if  they  knew,  that's  all." 

Hannah's  face  was  a  picture,  a  picture  to  be  studied. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  was  at  a  loss  for  words. 

"/  ain't  askin'  no  questions,"  went  on  Kenelm  calmly. 
"I  ain't  told  nobody  and  I  shan't  unless — unless  some 
body  keeps  naggin'  and  makes  me  mad.  But  I  shan't 
change  my  clothes  this  day ;  and  I  shan't  do  nothin'  else 
unless  I  feel  like  it,  either." 

His  sister  stared  at  him  blankly  for  a  moment.  Then 
she  fled  from  the  room.  Kenelm  took  his  pipe  from 
his  pocket,  filled  and  lighted  it,  and  smoked,  smiling 
between  puffs  at  the  ceiling.  The  future  looked  serene 
and  rosy — to  Kenelm. 

Christmas  dinner  at  the  High  Cliff  House  was  a  joyful 
affair,  notwithstanding  that  the  promise  of  fair  weather 
had  come  to  naught  and  it  was  raining  once  more.  John 
stayed  for  that  dinner,  so  did  Captain  Obed.  The  former 
and  Miss  Emily  said  very  little  and  their  appetites  were 
not  robust,  but  they  appeared  to  be  very  happy  indeed. 
Georgie  certainly  was  happy  and  Jedediah's  appetite 
was  all  that  might  have  been  expected  of  an  appetite  fed 
upon  the  cheapest  of  cheap  food  for  days  and  compelled 
to  go  without  any  food  for  others.  Thankful  was  happy, 
too,  or  pretended  to  be,  and  Captain  Obed  laughed  and 

371 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

joked  with  everyone.  Yet  he  seemed  to  have  something 
on  his  mind,  and  his  happiness  was  not  as  complete  as 
it  might  have  been. 

Everyone  helped  Imogene  wash  the  dishes ;  then  John 
and  Emily  left  the  kitchen  bound  upon  some  mysterious 
errand.  Captain  Obed  and  Georgie  donned  what  the 
captain  called  "dirty  weather  rigs"  and  went  out  to  give 
George  Washington  and  Patrick  Henry  and  the  poultry 
their  Christmas  dinner. 

The  storm  had  flooded  the  low  land  behind  the  barn. 
The  hen  yard  was  in  the  center  of  a  miniature  island. 
The  walls  of  the  pigsty  which  Thankful  had  had  built 
rose  from  a  lake. 

"It's  a  mercy  Pat  moved  to  drier  quarters,  eh,  second 
mate!"  chuckled  the  captain.  "He'd  have  had  to  sleep 
with  a  life-preserver  on  if  he  stayed  here." 

They  fed  the  hens  and  gave  George  Washington  a  lib 
eral  measure  of  oats  and  a  big  forkful  of  hay. 

"Don't  want  him  to  go  hungry  Christmas  Day,"  said 
Captain  Obed.  "Now  let's  cruise  around  and  see  if 
Patrick  Henry  is  singin'  out  for  liberty  or  death." 

The  pig  was  not,  apparently,  "singing  out"  for  any 
thing.  When  they  reached  the  wall  of  the  pen  by  the 
washshed  he  was  not  in  sight.  But  they  heard  him, 
somewhere  back  in  the  darkness  beneath  the  shed,  breath 
ing  stertorously,  apparently  sound  asleep. 

Georgie  laughed.  "Hear  him,"  he  said.  "He's  so  fat 
he  always  makes  that  noise  when  he's  asleep.  And  he's 
awful  smart.  When  it's  warm  and  nice  weather  he 
sleeps  out  here  in  the  sun.  When  it  rains  and  is  cold, 
same  as  now,  he  always  goes  way  back  in  there.  Hear 
him !  Don't  he  make  a  funny  noise." 

Emily  came  hurrying  around  the  corner  of  the  house. 

"Captain  Bangs,"  she  whispered.  "Captain  Bangs!" 
372 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

The  captain  looked  at  her.  He  was  about  to  ask 
why  she  whispered  instead  of  speaking  aloud,  but  the 
expression  on  her  face  caused  him  to  change  his  ques 
tion  to  "What's  the  matter?" 

Emily  looked  at  Georgie  before  replying. 

"I — I  want  to  see  you,"  she  answered.  "I  want  you  to 
come  with  me.  Come  quick.  Georgie,  you  must  stay  in 
the  kitchen  with  Imogene." 

Georgie  did  not  want  to  stay  in  the  kitchen,  but  when 
he  found  Jedediah  there  he  was  more  complacent.  The 
ex-gold  seeker  and  his  tales  of  adventure  had  a  tremen 
dous  fascination  for  Georgie. 

Emily  led  the  way  toward  the  front  stairs  and  Captain 
Obed  followed. 

"What's  up?"  he  whispered.  "What's  all  the  mys 
tery  about?" 

"We  don't  know — yet.  But  we  want  you  to  help  us 
find  out.  John  and  I  have  been  up  to  look  at  the  haunted 
room  and — and  it's  there." 

"There!     What?" 

"The — the  ghost,  or  whatever  it  is.  We  heard  it. 
Come!" 

At  the  door  of  the  rooms  which  were  the  scene  of 
Mr.  Cobb's  recent  supernatural  experience  and  of  Miss 
Timpson's  "warning"  they  found  Thankful  and  John 
standing,  listening.  Thankful  looked  rather  frightened. 
John  was  eager  and  interested. 

"You  found  him,  Emily,"  he  whispered.  "Good.  Cap 
tain,  you  and  I  are  commissioned  to  lay  the  ghost.  And 
the  ghost  is  in.  Listen !" 

They  listened.  Above  the  patter  and  rattle  of  the 
rain  on  the  roof  they  heard  a  sound,  the  sound  which 
two  or  three  members  had  heard  the  previous  night,  the 
sound  of  snoring. 

373 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"I  should  have  gone  in  before,"  whispered  John,  "but 
they  wanted  me  to  wait  for  you.  Come  on,  Captain." 

They  opened  the  door  of  the  larger  room  and  entered 
on  tiptoe.  The  snoring  was  plainly  heard  now  and  it 
seemed,  as  they  expected,  to  come  from  the  little  room 
adjoining.*  Into  that  room  the  party  proceeded,  the  men 
in  the  lead.  There  was  no  one  there  save  themselves  and 
nothing  out  of  the  ordinary  to  be  seen.  But  the  snoring 
kept  on,  plainer  than  ever. 

John  looked  behind  the  furniture  and  under  the  bed. 

"It's  no  use  doin'  that,"  whispered  Thankful.  "I've 
done  that  myself  fifty  times." 

Captain  Obed  was  walking  about  the  room,  his  ear 
close  to  the  wall,  listening.  At  a  point  in  the  center  of 
the  rear  wall,  that  at  the  back  of  the  house,  he  stopped  and 
listened  more  intently  than  ever. 

"John,"  he  whispered  eagerly,  "come  here." 

John  came. 

"Listen,"  whispered  the  captain.  "It's  plainer  here 
than  anywhere  else,  ain't  it?" 

"Yes.  Yes,  I  think  it  is.  But  where  does  it  come 
from?" 

"Somewhere  overhead,  seems  to  me.  Give  me  that 
chair." 

Cautiously  and  silently  he  placed  the  chair  close  to 
the  wall,  stood  upon  it,  and,  with  his  ear  against  the 
wallpaper,  moved  his  head  backward  and  forward  and 
up  and  down.  Then  he  stopped  moving  and  reaching 
up  felt  along  the  wall  with  his  hands. 

"I've  got  it,"  he  whispered.     "Here's  the  place." 

His  fingers  described  a  circle  on  the  wall.  He  tapped 
gently  in  the  middle  of  the  circle. 

"Hark!"  he  said.  "All  solid  out  here,  but  here- 
hollow  as  a  drum.  It's  — it's  a  stovepipe  hole,  that's  what 

374 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

'tis.  There  was  a  stove  here  one  time  or  'nother  and  the 
pipe  hole  was  papered  over." 

"But— but  what  of  it?"  whispered  Thankful.  "I  don't 
care  about  stovepipe  holes.  It's  that  dreadful  noise  I 
want  to  locate.  I  hear  it  now,  just  as  plain  as  ever." 

"Where  could  a  stovepipe  go  to  from  here?"  mused 
the  captain.  "Not  into  the  kitchen  ;  the  kitchen  chimney's 
way  over  t'other  side.  Maybe  there  was  a  chimney  here 
afore  the  house  was  moved." 

"But  the  snoring?"  faltered  Emily.  "Don't  you  hear 
it?" 

Captain  Obed  put  his  ear  against  the  covered  stovepipe 
hole.  He  listened  and  as  he  listened  his  face  took  on  a 
new  expression,  an  expression  of  sudden  suspicion,  then 
of  growing  certainty,  and,  a  moment  later,  of  huge 
amusement. 

He  stepped  down  from  the  chair. 

"Stay  right  where  you  are,"  he  ordered.  "Don't  move 
and  don't  make  any  noise.  I'll  be  right  back." 

He  hurried  out.  They  waited.  The  snoring  kept  on 
and  on.  Suddenly  it  ceased.  Then,  in  that  very  room, 
or  so  it  seemed,  sounded  a  grunt  and  a  frightened  squeal. 
And  then  a  voice,  a  hollow  voice  which  cried: 

"Ahoy,  all  hands!  I'm  the  ghost  of  Nebuchadnezzar's 
first  wife  and  I  want  to  know  what  you  folks  mean  by 
wakin'  me  up." 

The  three  in  the  back  bedroom  looked  at  each  other. 

"It's  Captain  Bangs!"  cried  Emily. 

"It's  Obed!"  exclaimed  Thankful. 

"He's  found  it,"  shouted  Kendrick.     "Come  on." 

The  captain  was  not  in  the  kitchen  when  they  got 
there.  He  had  gone  out  of  doors,  so  Imogene  said. 
Unmindful  of  the  rain  they  rushed  out  and  around 
the  corner,  behind  and  below  the  washshed.  Patrick 

375 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

Henry  was  running  about  his  pen,  apparently  much  dis 
turbed,  but  Captain  Obed  was  not  in  sight. 

"Where  is  he?"  demanded  Thankful.  "Where's  he 
gone  to?" 

"Hello  there,  John!"  cried  a  voice  from  the  darkness 
at  the  rear  of  the  pigsty  under  the  kitchen.  "Come  in 
here.  Never  mind  your  clothes.  Come  in." 

John  vaulted  over  the  rail  of  the  pen  and  disappeared. 
A  few  moments  later  he  came  out  again  in  company  with 
the  captain.  Both  were  laughing  heartily. 

"We've  got  the  answer,"  puffed  Captain  Obed,  who 
was  out  of  breath.  "We've  laid  the  ghost.  You  re 
member  I  told  you  that  day  when  we  first  explored  this 
place  that  old  Laban  Eldredge  had  this  pigpen  built. 
Afore  that  'twas  all  potato  cellar,  and  at  one  time  afore 
the  house  was  made  over  there  must  have  been  a  stove 
in  that  back  bedroom.  There's  no  chimney,  but  there's 
cracks  between  the  boards  at  the  back  of  that  pigpen 
and  any  noise  down  here  goes  straight  up  between  the 
walls  and  out  of  that  stovepipe  hole  like  a  speakin' 
tube.  You  heard  me  when  I  spoke  to  you  just  now, 
didn't  you  ?" 

"Yes — yes,"  answered  Emily.  "We  heard  you,  but — 
but  what  was  it  that  snored?  What  was  the  ghost?" 

Captain  Obed  burst  into  a  shout  of  laughter.  "There 
he  is,"  he  said,  pointing. 

Thankful  and  Emily  looked. 

"What?"  cried  the  latter. 

"The  pig?"  exclaimed  Thankful. 

"That's  what.  Georgie  gave  me  a  hint  when  he  and 
I  was  out  here  just  now.  Old  Pat  was  asleep  way  in 
back  there  and  snorin'  like  a  steam  engine.  And  Georgie 
said  he  never  slept  there  unless  'twas  a  storm,  rainin' 
same  as  'tis  now.  And  every  time  you  heard  the 

376 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

ho !  ho ! — the  ghost,  'twas  on  a  stormy  night.  It  stormed 
the  night  you  got  here,  and  when  Becky  Timpson  had 
her  warnin',  and  last  night  when  Sol  Cobb  got  his. 
Ho !  ho !  ho !  Patrick  Henry's  the  ghost.  Well,  he's  a 
healthy  old  spirit." 

Emily  laughed  until  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

'The  pig !"  she  cried.  "Oh,  Aunt  Thankful !  You  and 
I  were  frightened  almost  to  death  last  night — and  of  that 
creature  there.  Oh,  dear  me!" 

Thankful  laughed,  too,  but  she  was  not  fully  con 
vinced. 

"Maybe  'twas  the  pig  that  snored,"  she  admitted. 
"And  of  course  whatever  we  heard  came  up  that  pipe 
hole.  But  there  was  no  pig  there  on  that  first  night; 
I  didn't  buy  the  pig  until  long  afterwards.  And,  be 
sides,  what  I  heard  that  night  talked ;  it  said,  'Oh, 
Lord !'  Patrick  Henry  may  be  a  smart  pig,  but  he  can't 
talk." 

This  was  something  of  a  staggerer,  but  the  captain  was 
still  certain  he  was  on  the  right  track. 

"Then  somethin'  else  was  there,"  he  declared.  "Some 
body  was  down  under  the  house  here,  that's  sartin.  Who 
could  it  have  been?  Never  mind;  I'll  find  out.  We'll 
clear  up  the  whole  of  this  ghost  business,  now  we've  got 
started.  Maybe  we  can  find  some  hint  in  there  now. 
John,  go  up  and  fetch  a  lantern,  there's  a  good  fellow, 
and  we'll  have  a  look." 

John  brought  the  lantern  and  by  its  light  the  two  men 
explored  the  recesses  of  Patrick  Henry's  bed  chamber. 
When  they  emerged,  covered  with  dust  and  cobwebs, 
the  captain  held  something  in  his  hand. 

"I  don't  know  what  'tis,"  he  said.  "Maybe  nothin'  of 
any  account,  but  'twas  trod  down  in  the  corner  close  to 
the  wall.  Humph?  Eh?  Why,  it's  a  mitten,  ain't  it?" 

377 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

It  was  a  mitten,  a  much  worn  one,  and  on  the  inside 
of  the  wrist-band  were  worked  three  letters. 

"K.  I.  P."  read  Captain  Obed.  "What's  'K.  I.  P.'  stand 
for?" 

Imogene,  who  had  joined  the  group,  clapped  her  hands. 

"I  know,"  she  cried.    "Kenelm  Issachar  Parker." 

Thankful  nodded.  "That's  it,"  she  agreed.  "And— 
and — why,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  remember  hearin' 
Hannah  pitchin'  into  Kenelm  that  first  mornin'  after 
our  night  at  her  house,  for  losin'  his  umbrella  and  a 
mitten." 

"Right  you  are!"  Captain  Obed  slapped  his  knee. 
"And  Kenelm  was  out  somewheres  that  night  afore  he 
and  I  came  over  here.  He  found  his  umbrella  and  he 
brought  it  home  whole  a  week  or  so  later.  But  it  wa'n't 
whole  all  that  time,  because  Seth  Ellis  told  me  Kenelm 
brought  an  umbrella  in  for  him  to  fix.  All  turned  inside 
out  it  was.  Eh  ?  Yes,  sir !  We're  gettin'  nigher  port  all 
the  time.  Kenelm  came  by  this  house  that  night,  because 
'twas  him  that  saw  your  light  in  the  window.  I'll  bet  you 
he  smashed  his  new  umbrella  on  the  way  down  from 
the  club  and  crawled  in  here  out  of  the  wet  to  fix  it. 
He  couldn't  fix  it,  so  he  left  it  here  and  came  back 
after  it  the  next  day.  And  'twas  then  he  dropped  this 
mitten." 

Emily  offered  a  suggestion. 

"You  said  you  saw  someone  hiding  behind  the  hen 
house  that  next  morning,  Captain,"  she  said. 

"So  I  did.  And  I  thought  'twas  one  of  Solon  Taylor's 
boys.  I'll  bet  'twas  Kenelm;  he'd  sneaked  over  to  get 
the  umbrella.  It  was  him  that  said,  'Oh,  Lord'  that 
night;  I'll  bet  high  on  it.  When  he  thought  of  what 
Hannah'd  say  to  his  smashin'  the  umbrella  she  gave  him 
it's  a  wonder  he  didn't  say  more  than  that.  That's  the 

378 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

answer — the  whole  answer — and  I'll  prove  it  next  time  I 
see  Kenelm." 

Which,  by  the  way,  he  did. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  John  and  Emily  walked  up 
to  the  village  together.  They  asked  Thankful  and  Cap 
tain  Obed  to  accompany  them,  but  the  invitation  was 
declined.  However,  as  John  had  suddenly  remembered 
that  he  had  left  his  office  door  unlocked,  he  felt  that  he 
should  go  and  Emily  went  with  him. 

"I  presume  likely,"  observed  the  captain,  as  he  looked 
after  them,  "that  I  ought  to  feel  conscience-struck  for 
not  sayin'  yes  when  they  asked  me  to  come  along,  but 
somehow  I  don't.  I  have  a  sneakin'  feelin'  that 
they'll  get  on  first-rate  without  our  company,  Thank 
ful." 

Thankful  was  silent.  She  was  sitting  by  the  window. 
The  pair  were  alone  together  in  the  living-room  now. 
Imogene  and  Jedediah  and  Georgie  were  in  the  kitchen 
making  molasses  candy. 

"Well,"  observed  Captain  Obed,  "that's  so,  ain't  it? 
Don't  you  agree  with  me?" 

Still  there  was  no  answer  and,  turning,  the  captain 
was  surprised  to  see  his  companion  wiping  her  eyes  with 
her  handkerchief. 

"For  thunder  sakes!"  he  exclaimed,  in  dismay. 
"What's  happened  now?  Are  you  cryin'?" 

Thankful  tried  to  smile.  "No,"  she  said.  "I'm  not 
cryin'.  At  least,  I  hadn't  ought  to  cry.  I  ought  to  be 
awful  happy  and  I  am.  Seem'  those  two  go  off  together 
that  way  made  me  think  that  pretty  soon  they'd  be 
goin'  away  for  good.  And  I — I  was  a  little  lonesome,  I 
guess." 

"Sho !  sho !  You  mustn't  be  lonesome.  They  won't 
get  married  yet  awhile,  I  cal'late." 

379 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

"No.  I  suppose  not.  But  Emily  will  have  to  go  next 
week  back  to  her  school,  and  she'll  take  Georgie  with 
her.  I'll  miss  'em  both  terribly." 

"Yes,  so  you  will.  But  you've  got  your  brother  now. 
He'll  be  some  company." 

"Yes.  But,  unless  he's  changed  more  than  I'm  afraid 
he  has,  he'll  be  more  responsibility  than  comfort.  He 
means  well  enough,  poor  Jed,  but  he  ain't  what  you'd  call 
a  capable  person." 

"Well,  Imogene's  capable  enough,  and  she'll  be  here." 

"Yes." 

Silence  for  a  time.    Then  Captain  Obed  spoke. 

"Thankful,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "I  know  what's  worry- 
in'  you.  It's  just  what  you  said,  the  responsibility  of  it 
all.  It's  too  much  for  you,  the  responsibility  of  handlin' 
this  big  house  and  a  houseful  of  boarders  when  they 
come.  You  hadn't  ought  to  do  it  alone.  You  ought  to 
have  somebody  to  help." 

"Perhaps  I  had,  but  I  don't  know  who  'twill  be. 
I  can't  afford  to  hire  the  kind  of  help  I  need." 

"Why  don't  you  take  a  partner?" 

"A  partner?    Who,  for  goodness  sakes?" 

"Well — me.  I've  got  some  money  of  my  own.  I'll  go 
in  partners  with  you  here.  .  .  .  Oh,  now,  now!"  he 
added  hastily.  "Don't  think  there's  any  charity  in  this. 
There  ain't  at  all.  As  I  see  it,  this  boardin'  house  is 
mighty  good  business  and  a  safe  investment.  Suppose 
you  and  I  go  in  partners  on  it,  Thankful." 

Thankful  shook  her  head. 

"You're  awfully  good,"  she  said. 

"No,  I  ain't." 

"Yes,  you  are.     But  I  couldn't  do  it,  Obed." 

"Why  not?" 

"You  know  why  not.  For  the  same  reason  I  couldn't 
380 


"'Now  then,  when  shall  we  be  married?'" 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

say  yes  to  what  you  asked  me  a  while  ago.  I  can't  let 
you  help  me  out  of  pity." 

"Pity!"  He  turned  and  stared  at  her.  "Pity!"  he 
repeated. 

"Yes,  pity.  I  know  you're  sorry  for  me.  You  said 
you  were.  And  I  know  you'd  do  anything  to  help  me, 
even — even " 

He  interrupted. 

"Thankful  Barnes,"  he  said,  "did  you  think  I  asked 
you  what  I  asked  that  time  out  of  pity?" 

"Now,  Obed " 

"Stop!  Answer  rr.3.  Did  you  think  such  a  fool  thing 
as  that?  You  stay  right  where  you  are !  I  want  you  to 
look  me  in  the  face." 

"Don't,  Obed!    Don't!    Let  me  be.    Don't!" 

He  paid  not  the  slightest  attention.  He  was  bending 
over  her,  his  hand  beneath  her  chin,  forcing  her  to  look 
at  him. 

"Don't,  Obed!"  she  begged. 

"Thankful,  you  tell  me.  Did  you  think  I  asked  you  to 
marry  me  just  because  I  pitied  you.  Just  because  I  was 
sorry  for  you?  Did  you?" 

"Obed,  please!" 

"Thankful,  I've  come  to  care  for  you  more'n  anything 
else  in  the  world.  I  don't  pity  you.  I've  been  pityin' 
myself  for  the  last  month  because  I  couldn't  have  you — 
just  you.  I  want  you,  Thankful  Barnes,  and  if  you'll 
marry  me  I'll  be  the  happiest  critter  that  walks." 

"Oh,  Obed,  don't  make  it  so  hard  for  me.  You  said 
you  wouldn't.  And — and  you  can't  care — really." 

"I  can't!  Do  you  care  for  me?  That's  what  /  want 
to  know." 

"Obed,  you  and  I  ain't  young  folks.  We're  gettin'  on 
towards  old  age.  What  would  folks  say  if " 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

He  threw  his  arms  about  her  and  literally  lifted  her 
from  the  chair. 

"I  don't  care  a  durn  what  they  say,"  he  shouted,  exult 
antly.  "You've  said  what  I  was  waitin'  for.  Or  you've 
looked  it,  anyhow.  Now  then,  zvhen  shall  we  be  mar 
ried  ?  That's  the  next  thing  for  you  to  say,  my  girl." 

They  sat  there  in  the  gathering  dusk  and  talked. 
The  captain  was  uproariously  gay.  He  could  scarcely 
keep  still,  but  whistled  and  drummed  tunes  upon  the 
chair  arm  with  his  fingers.  Thankful  was  more  sub 
dued  and  quiet,  but  she  was  happy,  completely  happy 
at  last. 

"This'll  be  some  boardin'-house,  this  one  of  ours,"  de 
clared  the  captain.  "We'll  build  the  addition  you  wanted 
and  we'll  make  the  city  folks  sit  up  and  take  notice. 
And,"  with  a  gleeful  chuckle,  "we  won't  have  any  ghost 
snorin'  warnin's,  either." 

Thankful  laughed.  "No,  we  won't,"  she  said.  "And 
yet  I'm  awfully  grateful  to  that — that — that  pig  ghost. 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  him  that  mortgage  would  still  be 
hangin'  over  us.  And  Solomon  would  never  have  been 
scared  into  doin'  what  he  promised  Uncle  Abner  he  would 
do.  Perhaps  he'll  be  a  better  man,  a  more  generous  man 
to  some  of  his  other  poor  victims  after  this.  I  hope  he 
will." 

"So  do  I,  but  I  have  my  doubts." 

"Well,  we'll  never  kill  old  Patrick  Henry,  will  we? 
That  would  be  too  ungrateful." 

Captain  Obed  slapped  his  knee. 

"Kill  him!"  he  repeated:  "I  should  say  not!  Why, 
he's  your  Uncle  Abner  and  Rebecca  Timpson's  sister  Me- 
dora  and  old  Laban  Eldredge  and  I  don't  know  how  many 
more.  Killin'  him  would  be  a  double  back-action  rrias- 

382 


THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE 

sacre.  No  indeed,  we  won't  kill  him !  Come  on,  let's  go 
out  and  have  a  look  at  him  now.  I'd  like  to  shake  his 
hand,  if  he  had  one." 

"But,  Obed,  it's  rainin'." 

"What  of  it?  We  don't  care  for  rain.  It's  goin'  to 
be  all  sunshine  for  you  after  this,  my  lady.  I'm  the 
weather  prophet  and  I  tell  you  so.  God  bless  you, 
Thankful  Barnes." 

Thankful  smiled. 

"He  has  blessed  me  already,  Obed,"  she  said. 


THE  END 


A     000025815     2 


